


Summer Dreams

by HopeForTheWitch



Category: Death Note (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Breeding Kink, F/M, Female Yagami Light, Large Cock, Power Dynamics, Recreational Drug Use, Size Kink, Teacher/Student
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-17 10:42:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28598649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopeForTheWitch/pseuds/HopeForTheWitch
Summary: L spends a summer recovering at Wammy’s Academy.Unlike the other students, Light’s less than happy about this. Until she is.
Relationships: L/Yagami Light
Comments: 20
Kudos: 77





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. This is very AU but from the summary I'm sure you already got that.  
> 2\. I can’t for the life of me write Light as a proper genius (or L for that matter) and I don’t know how to have clever-sounding conversations. This is the result.  
> 3\. The whole Ryuzaki-persona being a ruse is an idea I shamelessly took from _Counterfeit Emotions_ because it appealed to me and I thought it fitting in this scenario. Link to be added once I learn how to do that.  
> 4\. I tagged this as underage as a precaution. Light is only ever described as being a student, but age is never specified other than "teenager". You can decide whether she's 18/19 or younger, that's up to you.

**Part One**

Light looks at the paper with disgust.

Encircled and barely readable is a thin 82% and the text, ‘I expect better from you next time!’

 _Goddamn him_ , she thinks darkly, resisting the urge to ball up the paper she spent precious hours on, making sure it was perfect. She should’ve got a 95%, which is the highest this particular teacher gives because he doesn’t believe in 100% marks.

Matt leans over her shoulder and huffs when he sees the red marks and the red chicken scratch of their teacher. “He’s so rough on you,” he says with sympathy.

Light narrows her eyes with annoyance but doesn’t reply. She waits until her classmates have filed out before making her way to the front of the class, where Dr. Ryuzaki is clicking away at his laptop. She clears her throat pointedly, and to her annoyance he doesn’t bother looking up as he says, “Yes, Light?” 

Clever he may be, but his social interactions leave something to the desire.

“I was wondering if—”

“No, Light,” Dr. Ryuzaki interrupts rudely.

Light withholds a sneer, the absolute lack of manners is abhorrent. She doesn’t understand why her classmates are all so taken with him. Is it his age? Just because he doesn’t have one foot in his grave yet doesn’t mean—well, whatever.

Finally he deigns to look up, catching her eyes. “Was there something else?” he asks.

She feels an angry flush rise to her cheeks and fights not to look away from those large grey eyes, though she really wants to. Doing so, however, would feel too much like defeat. A stray lock of hair hangs in his face and her hands twitch with the desire to fix it. “No, Dr. Ryuzaki,” she says at last, then turns sharply and walks out the door.

Infuriating arse.  
  


* * *

Most teachers at Wammy’s Institute hold multiple degrees, though they seem happy enough to go by _mister_ rather than _doctor_ , or worse, prefer to be called by their first name. Light prefers propriety, however, and so she refers to them as _doctors_ , the way it’s supposed to be. While her friend Matt has picked up this habit out of solidarity, Ryuk and Mello never bother to hide their snickers at her need for a proper address.

It’s the start of the summer holidays, but of course for students at the Wammy Academy this doesn’t mean they get their entire days off. It’s true that they have less hours, afternoons off, and a lot less homework, but they’re still required to show up to summer school.

Light wouldn’t have minded so much if Dr. Ryuzaki wasn’t always _there,_ substituting for teachers who are on vacation. She wishes he would just take a vacation himself, and maybe not come back, that’d be nice, because her grades are suffering under him, and they’re not even _his_ subjects! She’s already given up on getting anything higher than a steady 85% in his own criminology classes, but to have it spread like some sort of disgusting disease to the rest of her grades is unacceptable to her.

He’s been teaching them for three weeks now, and Light’s getting sick of it.

Dr. Ryuzaki Rue, otherwise known as L (though that’s supposed to be a secret, which is why everyone at the academy knows) got injured during a case and is still recovering. How they got him to teach, she has no clue. Perhaps with blackmail or something else that forced him to do it, because the man seems to have zero patience for teaching or, hell, teenagers in general. Light’s sure there’s no way he’s teaching them willingly.

(Yes, alright, okay, Light knows _exactly_ why everyone’s falling all over themselves for him, excusing his lack of manners and his oddities, doing them away as something to emulate, or worse, _cute_. She just doesn’t like to think about it, because in the dark recesses of her mind she can freely admit that she’s idolised him for years. To learn this rude man is the same man she’d put on a pedestal is more than horrifying and crushed her spirits for an entire week.)

“It’s just for the summer, he’ll go back doing whatever soon,” Matt tries to placate her, sitting on his bed, not looking up from his homework. “And anyway, you probably still had the highest grade out of everyone. I only got a 63%.”

Light gives him a look of absolute horror from where she’s sitting at his desk. 63%! Now _that’s_ —“How did that even happen? It looked good when I saw it. Did you change anything?”

“No, I turned it in the way it was after your second look through,” Matt sighs.

“You should’ve got at least a 70%,” Light tells him seriously, wondering whether she should find Roger or not and lodge an actual complaint against L. Quickly she finds that the answer to that is _no_ , because it’s not like they’re going to take her seriously. They’ll just see it as whinging, even though she’s perfectly justified in her complaints. _Men_.

Matt doesn’t seem to care as he just shrugs and goes back to his homework.

* * *

Another week passes, the first week of the summer holidays. Seven days filled with abysmal grades, and she’s _done_. She wants answers, and soon, and Light Yagami always gets what she wants—except, apparently, when it comes to grades in L’s classes. It’s honestly obnoxious how much it bothers her.

L has his own private building on the manor’s grounds, though it’s not far removed from the dorms. From afar she can see the treeline bending around the building, the ones closest seemingly the youngest as well, thinner and shorter than the rest. A large oak tree stands off to the side, with one long branch extending all the way to one of the upper floor windows, its tips brushing the glass. To Light it looks like an accident waiting to happen. One particular bad storm et voila, there you have it.

Light walks up the steps then uses the door knocker several times, her free hand clutching her latest papers. She should’ve worn a jacket, she thinks as the wind picks up, wrapping an arm around herself while she waits. Soon it will start to rain, because of course it will, this is England and summer months mean nothing when it comes to bad weather.

At last the heavy wooden door opens. 

“Ms. Yagami, what a surprise. Shouldn’t you be in bed?” Mr. Wammy greets her. He steps aside to let her in.

Light glances at him through her fringe. “Er, yes,” she stammers, always finding herself at a loss when faced with Mr. Wammy’s genial manner. “Well, that is, I’m looking for Dr. Ryuzaki. I wish to ask him about my grades.” _Again_ , she doesn’t add.

Mr. Wammy smiles at her. “I see. Let me find him for you, if you’d wait here?”

“Yes, of course.”

He disappears through a corridor, though it doesn’t take him long to return. She doesn’t like the expression he’s wearing, however, for apologetic doesn’t bode well. “I’m afraid he’s indisposed at the moment, Ms. Yagami,” he says politely. “Though, I did tell him about your quest. His exact words were, and I quote, ‘ _Someone should keep her humble_.’”

“Humble?!” Light repeats quietly. She swallows a scream of fury, enraged. Mr. Wammy doesn’t deserve it, _don’t kill the messenger_ , but god is it tempting to just let go of her temper. “Thank you, Mr. Wammy,” she manages evenly. “I hope you have a good night.”

“Goodnight, Ms. Yagami,” Mr. Wammy says gently.

Light turns away with a nod and walks back to the dorms, and as she does, her anger leaves her and she finds that her lower lip is trembling. She purses her lips to make it stop.

Light’s not going to cry.

L doesn’t deserve her tears, just like Mr. Wammy didn’t deserve her rage.

* * *

In bed that night it’s a very close call.

* * *

But Light Yagami is nothing if not adaptable. Humble, hmm? And he couldn’t even bother to tell her that to her face, that coward. Talk about humble, what an arrogant prick! She’s plenty humble, thank you very much. She just knows what she’s capable of, she knows what she wants and she knows what she deserves, such as _fair grades_.

She selects one of her scarves, the few ways in which she can make herself stand out a little from the other girls at the academy, decides on a thin beige one this time, wrapping it twice around her throat and leaving the tails hanging carelessly. It goes well with the boring grey uniform they make the students wear, summer or not.

With a last look at the mirror, fixing her flared skirt, she makes her way down to the dining hall, where Ryuk is already seated. Matt is nowhere to be found yet, but then, he often comes down at the last moment, stuffing his mouth in a hurry before coming with them to class.

“Did it work?” Ryuk asks with a smirk, already knowing the answer.

Light presses her lips together, staring him down until he raises his hands with a chuckle, spiked hair bobbing with the shaking of his head. More than once she’s wondered how he got in, whether it wasn’t just a fluke. His grades, miraculously, are fine, however and contrary to their sometimes seemingly hostile relationship, she doesn’t actually set out to hurt him.

“Have you ever thought that maybe he’s challenging you?”

Light wrinkles her nose at that thought. “I sincerely doubt he cares that much,” she says.

She’s hardly the only one with good grades. There’s Near, who is a shoe-in for a letter. There’s Matt, who despite his terrible grades lately is actually one of the best ones to be found at Wammy Academy, and there are others as well. Light doesn’t actually stand out, which is nice for a change. Things had been different when she still lived in Japan.

For a long time after coming here, Light used to want to be a letter. But then one night she laid awake in bed, truly thinking about what that would mean, and she realised that what she really wants is to become her own person. She wants to achieve things herself rather than inherit reputation and fame from someone else. 

Light will carve her own fate one way or another.

“Stop angsting over my food,” Ryuk complains.

* * *

The day passes uneventfully, that is, up until after dinner, when it’s time for criminology class. She should’ve known better than to sign up for it, but at the time she hadn’t known yet what an arsehole L would turn out to be. Now she’s stuck in a class with a man who isn’t able to teach even if the skill whacked him over the head.

* * *

_Dr. Ryuzaki_ isn’t in class yet, so Mello drags Matt and Light with him to the back of the classroom, where they sit down, with an empty table on Mello’s right, Light on his left side and Matt on her left. She leaves her messenger-bag in her lap, wraps her arms around it instead of herself and forces herself not to stare down at the table while they wait.

* * *

Halfway through the lesson, Mello leans behind her to whisper something in Matt’s ear, who scoffs. _Loudly_.

“Excuse me, do I need to separate you?” Dr. Ryuzaki asks.

“No,” Mello replies while Matt slouches in his chair and half-hides behind Light.

Dr. Ryuzaki’s eyes narrow and he leans back on the desk. “Come sit in the front anyway, Light.” He gives the back of the empty chair in next of him two slow pats, no doubt mocking her. It’s a spot where nobody dares to sit because sitting next to him and having his undivided attention is terrifying in its intensity. Great.

She hates him so much.

She didn’t even _do_ anything!

Matt has a hand in front of his mouth, but she can tell that he’s grinning widely. On her other side, Mello isn’t bothering with hiding his satisfied smirk.

Light feels her face do interesting things before she can get it to settle down. With uncontrollably jerky motions she grabs her books and her messenger-bag and makes her way to the front, seething. Why does he make her so angry? She isn’t usually this much of an angry and angsty teenager, but lately it’s always humming in the background, a low-grade fury simmering in her veins and waiting to be let out, a frustrated scream caught in her throat. She doesn’t like to be this way either, it messes with her head.

Dr. Ryuzaki singles her out, that’s what makes her angry, she decides. That and his stupid face and his stupid voice and his stupid _everything_. God, she’s so pissed off she can’t even think straight, her mind clouded and her thoughts running in circles.

“Problem?” Dr. Ryuzaki murmurs when everyone’s back to work, as if lowering his voice is going to do anything to keep them from being overheard when you could hear a pin drop. His hand falls down on her shoulder, palm of his hand resting on her collarbone, and she fights the urge to shake it off.

“No, sir,” Light says bitterly.

He swipes his thumb over the base of her throat, and her eyelids flutter at the touch, a warm shiver running down her spine, her skin more sensitive than he probably expected. After a moment he removes his hand, and she feels like she can breathe freely again. When she looks up at him, he’s looking away, but she can see a satisfied smirk twisting his lips.

 _Prick_.

* * *

“Why do you insist on calling him Dr. Ryuzaki? He’s L,” Mello says later that evening.

“We’re not supposed to know that,” Light says.

Mello shrugs. “So? Why’s that matter? Everyone knows.”

“Yes, but—” Light sighs. “Nevermind.”

* * *

She has him for maths the next day, and when she follows Mello to the back of the room, he whistles sharply. When she looks up to see where the noise came from, he pats the empty desk adjacent to the one he’s sitting on. 

With blazing eyes she sits down in the chair indicated, dropping her messenger-bag on the floor without losing eye-contact and shoving it under her chair with her feet. She manages to pull a smile from somehow, tries to think good thoughts and not about how much she wants to strangle the man with the oddly expressive grey eyes. She wonders if her own face does that too, her eyes telling everything the rest of her face is hiding carefully. Others have issues reading her, yet Dr. Ryuzaki always seems to be seeing straight through her.

Fine, L then. What point is there in denying it?

His ability to read even the most difficult people is probably part of what makes him such a bloody good detective. Light prides herself on the way she can put on masks and fool everyone around her, _perfect little Light_ , but with L she feels as though he’s looking right through the cracks and sees _her_. Like he judges her and finds her lacking.

“Good girl,” L says when she’s fully seated, his voice soft.

If Light were a cat, this would be the point where she’d be hissing at him to _fuck off_.

He sits in that weird position of his, with his knees drawn up to his chest and his bare feet curled around the edge of the desk, watching the class behind her intently. She breathes out quietly, relieved that his full attention isn’t on her anymore. She feels numerous pairs of eyes burning a hole in her back, no doubt envious of her spot.

As though Light wouldn’t trade with them in a heartbeat.

* * *

The entire fifth week of his stay, he has her sit in the front of the room, and at the end of the week word has gone around that she’s officially become a teacher’s pet. She doesn’t want to be L’s pet—or anyone’s pet, but particularly his—though he seemed amused more than anything when one of the boys hissed the words at her when he thought L couldn’t hear.

Light’s still trying to figure out what she did wrong to deserve this.

With how often she has him for classes, her entire existence seems to revolve around him now. It’s like he’s _everywhere_ , if not in person, spotting him at all times of the day, then he features heavily in her thoughts, invading her dreams. She may or may not be spiraling. It’s a problem.

* * *

Enough is enough. 

Light clenches her latest paper in a fist as she storms to L’s hideout on Saturday around noon. She’s going to demand to see him, indisposed or not. She doesn’t care anymore, her grades are even lower than before! She’s never going to pass at this rate, she knows she deserves higher marks for her work and she’s going to get them.

She slams the knocker on the door, careful not to get her fingers caught in between, then waits impatiently for the door to open. Once more Mr. Wammy is the one to open the door, most likely because L can’t be arsed to do it himself. God forbid His Highness do some menial work for once, she snarks mentally.

“Come in, come in, Ms. Yagami,” Mr. Wammy greets jovially, opening the door wider and stepping aside. “We were just about to have lunch. Have you eaten yet?”

Lunch has only been served for about fifteen to twenty minutes now. “No, sir,” she says as she steps inside, because there’s no use in lying. There is no way she’s eaten already and then ran all the way to L’s building, and they both know it. 

She follows Mr. Wammy a door, into a kitchen where L is seated at a bar, normally for once. Light freezes in the door opening. L’s eyes widen upon seeing her, and then he casts a disappointed look at Mr. Wammy. “Watari,” he says evenly, “why is there a student in my kitchen?”

“Ms. Yagami is hungry, sir,” Mr. Wammy replies.

Light would protest, but she’d rather not get in between those two right now. Instead she inches closer to the door, trying to hide behind Mr. Wammy, but what that does is just cause L to turn his unnerving stare upon her. 

“Ryuzaki,” Mr. Wammy says in a warning tone, then he clears his throat. “I’ll be in the drawing room. Help yourself, Ms. Yagami, you must eat something.”

“Yes, sir,” she says obediently, giving him a thankful smile. It’s only half forced.

And then the door falls closed and she’s alone with L.

She’s too nervous to eat, would rather throw up. This scenario is one she used to dream of, without the current circumstances, of course, but she’s yearned to meet him since the day she learned about his achievements. Having his attention now, however, feels much like a curse.

“Why are you here?” he asks sharply.

She flushes, feels incredibly dumb for having come here. “My—my grades,” she says with hesitation clouding her voice. She almost makes a comment about Mr. Wammy letting her in before realising that would be one of the most obvious statements of the past two centuries combined. The last thing she needs is accidentally proving to L that she deserves the grades he gave her, damnit.

“Ah, grades,” L says and he gives a long-suffering sigh.

“Well, excuse me for caring about my career,” Light snaps. Her face feels hot the way it always does when she’s in the middle of a confrontation, her knees slightly weak with it and her heart in her throat.

“I thought Light would appreciate a challenge,” L says.

So Ryuk was right.

“I thought she would understand,” he continues, “but it appears I—” 

“No, I _do_ understand,” she says quickly, interrupting him. He glares at her for that, grey eyes flashing in anger, but she refuses to back down. She tells herself she’s not afraid of him, tells herself that his annoyance means nothing to her. “I just didn't think it could be—I mean, I didn’t think you…” She trails off, trying to search for the right word. “Cared,” she decides.

His face does something and then goes unreadable again. “Of course I care.”

“Well, I didn’t _know_ that,” Light defends herself. “Especially with how much you dislike me.”

“That has nothing—” He pauses, then leans back in his chair. “ _Teenagers_ ,” he breathes. Another weary sigh. “Go on, eat something.”

“What?”

“Light heard me perfectly well.”

Light carefully doesn’t wrinkle her nose at the odd speech pattern once more surfacing, but sits down in the only barstool available, which happens to be next to him. She puts her nearly forgot paper to the side. There are various plates with finger-sandwiches, and at the centre of the bar sits a large chocolate cake. L has a slice in front of him, fork dangling from between two fingertips. 

“Watari will have my hide if you don’t eat at least _something_ ,” L encourages her again.

She also carefully doesn’t narrow her eyes, but it’s a close thing. He keeps switching back and forth between that strange third person speech pattern and normal speech, and she doesn’t know what to think. In class he seems incapable of sitting normally with horrible posture but here he sits straight with his feet firmly planted on the floor.

Awkwardly she takes a cucumber sandwich from one of the plates, and then another one when she finds that she is hungry after all, having skipped dinner last evening because she spent most of the afternoon with Matt, Mello and Ryuk playing video games. She had to work through dinner to get her homework done.

They eat in silence, thankfully, because Light wouldn’t know where to begin with small talk with L. He’s just so… different. She can’t say she’s a fan of _different,_ usually, but this is L. For all her big talk to her friends, she hasn’t actually knocked him off that mental pedestal yet, keeps finding excuses as to why the things she’s bothered by aren’t necessarily bad.

Which is ridiculous.

“I don’t dislike you,” L says once he’s finished his chocolate cake. He shoves the little plate away from him, closer to the centre of the bar and dunks the used fork in his teacup, using it to stir. “Though that has nothing to do with your grades.”

“Then why would you grade me so low?” Light dares to ask, barely able to keep the whine out of her voice. He said it was to challenge her, but really, what is she supposed to do? Light is hyper aware of her limitations, and as far as she’s aware, she’s already delivering the best she can.

L’s disappointed looks are very effective, she thinks. “Must I really repeat myself?” he asks, his expression morphing into something that shows impatience.

“No, I understand you meant to challenge me,” she says. “But if I don’t know what you’re expecting of me, then I don’t—”

“You could start by requesting extra work. You put in extra effort into your regular papers, yet that is energy you could be spending on new material.”

Light narrows her eyes. “Is that how Near keeps his grades up?” As far as Light knows, Near is one of the few students who manages to keep his perfect grades. “Because he does extra credit work?”

“Yes.”

“Well how was I supposed to know that!” Light snaps, slamming a fist onto the bar, shocking herself more than her companion. She looks at her fist in betrayed horror, hadn’t meant for that outburst to happen even though it’s been building for weeks now. “Sorry, Dr. Ryuzaki.”

He chuckles, grey eyes dancing with mirth. “Just Ryuzaki is fine.”

“Ryuzaki, then,” she says softly, clenching her fists in her lap to keep them from shaking.

The door to the kitchen creaks open and Mr. Wammy appears. He must have heard the bang her fist made when connecting to the wooden surface of the bar. “I see you haven’t killed each other yet,” he comments lightly.

L turns to look at her, lips twisted upwards.

Light keeps her chin up, fighting through her embarrassment and against the urge to look down at her lap. It feels harder to do than normal, and just then she realises something: there’s something about L that makes her _weak,_ in all senses of the word, something that unsettles her so much she loses track of herself. She needs to know what it is so she can make it go away.

* * *

It’s Tuesday afternoon, their morning classes have just ended and it’s raining heavily, a downpour that will no doubt soak Light within seconds. They were allowed to use the underground tunnels to get from the dorms to the school building, but—she stares at L’s building in the distance from the window in her room—they’ll never let her use them for her current scheme. The trees are swaying dangerously in the wind, though as expected, that one particular branch is gone now, probably with news of a storm coming. More than that she can’t see, because the curtains are all closed.

The thing is, on Saturday Light fled before she could figure out what sort of extra credit she can do for her grades, and Near’s answers so far have been more than unsatisfactory. Theoretically she could let go of these grades because it’s summer work and they don’t count very heavily in the grand scheme of things, but it’s the principle of the thing. 

Light Yagami doesn’t _do_ low scores.

If she makes a run for it now, she can still make it there and back before the summer storm hits. She won’t be able to take her homework with her because it’ll get soaked in the rain; she prefers it intact so she has proof of every grade in case some clever arsehole (Matt) gets bored again and decides to think it’ll be fun to go into the database and scramble the results.

Decided, Light takes her trenchcoat off her hanger and pauses. She’s still wearing her uniform. Is reminding him that she’s a student going to make him more or less likely to take her seriously? She shakes her head at her own thoughts, because she’s just deluding herself into thinking that anything would make a difference, and quickly makes her way down the hall and then downstairs.

Light keeps her expression calm as she walks to the doors because people are looking. To be fair, she's not very inconspicuous, what with wearing her coat after all. They must have drawn the correct conclusion (if not, they don’t deserve to be here, frankly). If they’ll look out their windows in a few seconds, they’ll see Light going to L’s building, and whatever other conclusions they’ll reach, well, that’s not something she wants to think much about, if at all.

Taking a deep breath, she opens the doors and steps outside, a sense of instant regret hitting her hard along with the thick rain drops. Someone slams the door closed behind her, and she turns, has half a mind to ask to be let back in, but then makes up her mind and marches to the building near the forest.

As expected, by the time she reaches the double doors she’s soaked to the bone and shivering, teeth clattering violently. She uses the door knocker twice, waits, then knocks a few times more before _finally_ the right door opens. She’s blasted by hot air and looks up at the ceiling, spotting a blower.

“What?” L asks irritably.

Light wildly gestures around her. “R-rain?” she stammers, bringing her arms down from around her torso and lets herself be hit by the hot air. “I’m c-cold.”

L sighs and steps aside, letting her through. “Light is very pretty,” he says as he closes the door behind her and straightens out of his hunched-over stance. “She should not be here, people will talk.”

“Be-because they w-wouldn’t have done that h-had I not been p-pretty,” Light says, managing to sound sardonic even through her stuttering. 

“We’ll never find out,” L says.

“Not in this u-universe anyw-way,” Light says.

“Not in any universe.”

Her stomach flips at that, and she decides she must be hungry, missing lunch _again_. She clears her throat and unbuttons her trenchcoat. “C-can you turn that one up?” she asks, pointing at the ceiling, relaxing now that one source of the cold is gone.

“Watari’s out,” L tells her, gesturing for her to follow. “I don’t care to know how to turn it off or on.”

“What a genius,” Light mutters sarcastically, keeping her blue coat folded over her arm and falling into step with him, leaving behind a trail of rain. They enter the kitchen again, and she puts her trenchcoat over the first radiator that she sees, spreading it out carefully so that it dries faster.

“Food?” L asks.

“Yes, please,” Light says pleasantly.

“You know where the fridge is.”

“I don’t know what I expected,” she sighs to herself. 

When she looks up, she sees him smiling smugly. He notices her look and then, as if he was waiting for her attention, he gives her a blatant once-over, or rather a twice-over. 

Light blinks. She’s hardly self-conscious, used to getting compliments. She knows what she looks like, yet for some reason her cheeks burn hotly when his eyes sweep over her form, lingering on the shape of her hips and the swell of her breast. She’s been eyed plenty of times before, much like this (which is why she always wears a T-shirt over a bikini), but those were all just _boys_ and of little interest to her.

L is older, a grown man, one that she can admit to herself isn’t bad looking either. From the look in his eyes and the small grin he wears she can easily tell he likes what he sees.

Is Light allowed to return the favour? She does so anyway, swallowing when she notices the dickprint in his low-riding sweats and quickly glances at his loose white T-shirt that he’s tucked half into the waistband of his grey sweatpants, showing off wiry muscle. She guesses he’s stronger than he looks, and isn’t _that_ a thought.

It comes to her then, standing in his kitchen much like a drenched kitten while the storm rages on outside, in a sudden moment of clarity she realises that she _wants_ him.

Well, shit. Now what?

When her attentive eyes reach his face, his growing smirk says he already knew.

What a bastard.


	2. Part Two

He leaves her to root through the fridge in peace, though she spends more time freaking out over her revelation than seeking food. He returns fast, brings back a pair of sweats, a T-shirt, a towel and a blanket. She wraps the towel around her hair. The blanket is so large that when she holds it up it sweeps the floor. Her blazer has already joined her coat on the radiator.

“Don’t you have a bathroom?”

He pauses, empty coffee cup in one hand. “Yes,” he allows, “but that would mean you’d get more of the floor wet rather than just the short distance between the door and the kitchen.” His face takes on a sly expression. “I wouldn’t want to give Watari more work when he comes back.”

Right, Mr. Wammy, who isn’t here. She forgot about him. 

It’s just the two of them in his kitchen, L in the process of getting them coffee and Light about to enter a state of undress that would get both of them killed should anyone from Wammy’s Academy see it, though whether that’s from jealousy or because she’s a student depends entirely on who it would be.

She eyes his straight back and wonders. “Why do you do it?” she asks as she wraps the blanket around her shoulders and turns around, facing the wall next to the radiator.

“Why do I do what?” he asks mildly.

“Fake your posture.” She hums to herself. “Why do you sit like a frog?”

“Because I am bored,” he says seriously.

Light can sort of understand that. She, too, often finds herself bored, even with the individualised classes Wammy’s Academy offers. When she just got here, she flew through her classes, soaking up knowledge like a sponge, until she was so deep in her books that the teachers started worrying she was overworking herself, though they believed it was because she wanted to fit in. The truth was that she was overworking herself in an effort not to get bored, but after three years of running ahead of herself she grew tired and she hasn’t been able to shake that mental exhaustion ever since it hit her. Now she goes through material at a more sedate pace lest she lose all enthusiasm entirely.

“Don’t you have cases to keep you busy? Or are you still recovering?”

L gives her an innocent look. “Recovering from what?”

Light snorts; like he hasn’t heard the students speculate about that. “Whatever it is that ails you,” she answers simply, not going to play that particular game, moving to start unbuttoning her shirt, which is rather bothersome with the heavy weight of the blanket around her shoulders and trying to keep it from slipping down.

She smells citrus before she feels his hands on her shoulders. He comes to stand behind her and readjusts the blanket, lifting it from her shoulders but holding it in place. He towers over her, more than a head taller than her, and he’s warm against her back. When she leans back ever so slightly she can feel his chest vibrating with that deep chuckle of his. 

Light shrugs her arms out of her cold dress-shirt and throws it towards the radiator, where it lands with a _splat_ sound, her bra soon following because she’ll just get the T-shirt wet otherwise, there’s nothing for it. She’s aware of L’s eyes roaming over what he can see from over her shoulder as she pulls the T-shirt over her head, his hands noticeably twitching. The shirt is so long it falls mid-thigh. 

She takes off her remaining clothes, quickly stepping into the pair of sweats. They match now, she thinks, although her sweatpants are darker than his. She smiles, then turns around, facing him.

“Something funny?” L asks.

He wraps the blanket around her, and she has to grab the ends to keep it from falling off her shoulders again. The kitchen is warm but she’s still freezing and the blanket helps with that. He trails his hands from her shoulders down her flanks, palms unmistakably lingering on her breasts on their way down before settling on her hips. Shameless, but she can’t say she’s angry about it.

Suddenly he steps away and he folds his arms in front of his chest, hands in his armpits as if to keep himself from touching her. “Ah, fuck, what am I doing,” he mutters to himself.

Light isn’t convinced.

She narrows her eyes at the act for a split second. By all accounts he does come across as genuine, but Light simply knows better. She might not know him _that_ well, but she’s seen enough of him to realise that L is all calculations and theatre, layers and masks. He knows _exactly_ what he’s doing. As appealing as the idea is that she made him lose control of himself, she highly doubts that’s what’s happening here.

“You’re assisting me with changing clothes,” she supplies helpfully.

L walks over to one of the doors without a reply. The kitchen has two of them, one leading back into the hallway and the other leading to what appears to be a living room, though it’s sparsely decorated. There’s a two-seat sofa with a low table in front of it and a large fluffy rug that takes up most of the hardwood floor. A laptop sits open on the table. 

He kneels down on the carpet between the sofa and the table, pulling the laptop to him. “I’m recovering from boredom,” he finally says, putting on dramatic airs.

Light just hums in reply and sinks down in the seat behind him, her knees touching his back.

“It’s true,” L argues.

“I don’t doubt that,” Light grins. “So, er. What’s this about extra credit?”

“Hmm.” L seems to think it over. Perhaps he truly hasn’t thought about it yet and is only now deciding what it should be. “I changed my mind.”

Light frowns. “So all I had to do was turn up soaking wet on your doorstep?”

L turns around to stare intently at her, eyes wide and his index finger pressed against his bottom lip. “Please phrase that differently when you tell your little friends.”

She stares right back. “You’re so strange,” she blurts.

“And does this matter?” L gives her a crooked smile, which makes him look even odder.

“No,” she says with honesty in her voice. After much thinking about it, she’s decided that it’s not his oddities which rub her the wrong way, it’s his attitude and his lack of manners and the way everyone is pretty much okay with that. 

Then there’s the fact that it’s all being faked anyway, which pisses her off even more while simultaneously making her feel somewhat special that she gets to see another side of him. She isn’t stupid enough to believe this is his true self, but she thinks this might be a side of him that he doesn’t show often, if the way he portrays himself outside of the house is any indication.

* * *

He lets her help with cases all afternoon, and though she’s merely voicing what he already deduced anyway, it’s surprisingly fun. L’s gallows humour has her giggling stupidly a few times, though they both feel bad about each joke. Still, it’s like he can’t help himself, grinning smugly whenever he gets her to laugh. 

The time flies, and by the time dinner rolls around, the storm has truly picked up and any opportunity of going back to the dorms in time to avoid the worst of it has passed. There’s apparently one underground tunnel leading to the school, from where she could technically go to the dorms, but this particular tunnel is off limits due to its sensitive nature, or something along those lines. From the look on L’s face, Light knows better than to ask.

Mr. Whammy’s still hasn’t returned and neither L nor Light can cook, so he has cake while she puts together two simple sandwiches. They sit at the bar in silence, both lost in their own thoughts, though Light’s are centered around a certain detective.

She’s surprised at how well they got along today. When she ran through the rain to get to his house, she didn’t expect to actually spend much time with him, but it’s been a little over six hours, and she legitimately enjoyed herself, to the point where she forgot the time, the sound of the rain slamming against the windows only adding to the atmosphere rather than reminding her to get back.

Now thunder and lightning have joined the mix, the sky an angry grey. 

After dinner L gives her a stack of papers and tells her, “Look these over, please.”

“You want me to grade them?”

“No, I want you to look them over for me so I can then grade them. Just… don’t tell anyone.”

Light snorts. This entire day has been an exercise of _never going to tell anyone about this_. Not just because it’ll get either of them in trouble, but because she wants to keep this afternoon from everyone, wants to keep it private. Having other people know about it would most likely spoil it, she thinks. “Sure,” she says.

She sits down on the floor across from him, not bothering with the blanket anymore. She takes the first test and starts looking it through, marking mistakes with the red pen L gave her earlier. It takes her a while to notice, but when she finally looks up, she realises he’s staring at her. 

His expression goes from something soft to closed off within a second.

“What?” she asks. “Am I doing something wrong?”

“No, not at all,” he says.

She gives him a weird look. “Okay then,” she says.

* * *

Time passes so fast it feels like a singular hour rather than the entire evening. Light wouldn’t mind a repeat of today, if she’s honest with herself, which truth be told she isn’t always. But this much she can admit; she wants L, but she also _likes_ him. The last part she considers strange, because even the mask he chooses to show her is so different from the norm.

Light tends to like conventional things, and L is not like that at all.

The door to the living room opens all of a sudden, and Mr. Ruvie sticks his head around the doorjamb. “Hey, Ryuzaki, I—” Then he spots Light sitting on the other side of the low table, leant back on her hands because she hasn’t had the time to curl up yet, and his eyes widen. “ _Oh_.”

Light’s face burns because she knows exactly what he saw, hardened nipples and areolas visible through the thin fabric of her borrowed T-shirt. That particular image was only supposed to be for L’s darkened eyes, and, highly embarrassed, she brings her knees up and folds her arms around her legs, hiding her face. 

Oh god, she can’t believe someone walked in on her shamelessly putting herself on display. She never should’ve been so bold as to show herself off, _baiting_ him, then this wouldn't have happened, she doesn’t know what got into her, but it was beyond stupid.

“Ryuzaki, can we talk?” Mr. Ruvie asks sharply. “Now?”

L sighs, throws his pen onto the table and crosses his arms. “We can talk here just fine.”

Mr. Ruvie clears his throat loudly, though it’s followed by a tense albeit short silence. “Ryuzaki, _why_ is a student sitting on the floor after curfew?” he asks quasi-politely, something dark and judging in his voice, though he seems to be careful to keep his eyes trained on L, as if he too is embarrassed by what he saw.

“I believe that’s not of your business,” L says in clipped tones.

“She’s one of my students, you’ll find that she is.”

“Well, stay out of it anyway.”

“Has she told you how old she is? She’s only—” 

“I’m aware of her age, spare me,” L snaps.

“Alright.” There’s another silence. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

“Thank you, goodnight,” L says evenly.

The man flees.

L sighs. “Are you alright?”

Light nods silently without looking up, her skin still crawling at the idea of getting caught. It was just supposed to be something they weren’t talking about, something fun though indecent, adding somewhat of an edge to their interactions that furthered the tension between them. No-one else was meant to see her like that.

L temporarily stretches his legs under the table, feet poking her legs until she finally responds with a hum. “Light? Look at me, please.” His feet retreat again, and he goes back to sitting cross-legged.

“I’m fine,” she says, looking up. “Just—wasn’t expecting _that_.” 

L gives her a long, hard look, then nods. “Show me again,” he says.

She unfurls slowly, a little skittish at first but gaining confidence as she assumes her previous position, her legs stretched out underneath the table in the V of his, and she gains confidence from the way his eyes darken at the sight of her areolas, two dark spots on her otherwise white shirt. Her nipples harden further to the point that she’s hyper aware of the way they tent the fabric. His attention is addicting, heady and intense, his expression obviously appreciative of her current pose.

“Lean back on your—good girl.”

“Yeah?”

L bites his lip, gaze roaming over her chest. “Mhm, very nice.”

Light raises an eyebrow and grins despite herself. “Nice? _Really_?”

He ducks his head as he chuckles. “Yes, really,” he says somewhat sheepishly, looking back up again and wiping black locks out of his eyes. He has one hand clenched on the table, the other hidden beneath the table.

“Are you—” She cuts herself off.

L grabs her bare foot, and Light startles slightly but doesn’t jerk her foot away. Her eyes widen at the feel of something that can’t be mistaken for anything else but an erection. No wonder he didn’t want to get up. She curls her toes, straightens her leg a little to put more pressure on the hard flesh. He lets go of her foot, and he leans with his elbows on the table, chin in his hands, watching her with a challenge in his eyes.

But Light is having a mini-freakout over the fact that she’s _touching his cock_. She can’t get a good feel for it with just her foot, and she doesn’t want to accidentally kick him either. Is this even something he’s into, a footjob, or did he just want to let her know that he’s hard? If so, he definitely succeeded. She tries to get a handle on herself when a sudden bout of shyness makes her foot twitch.

“Do you do this often?” she hears herself ask, then flinches at her own anserine question.

Light Yagami is many things, but timid isn’t one of them, damnit.

Light Yagami is clever and intrepid and proud, bordering on arrogant. 

Light Yagami is not new to dick either.

There is no reason for her to feel shy of all things. 

Is she so willing to submit because of what he has accomplished or is it because of who he is rather than what? She has no desire for a letter, least of all his. Is it the age gap, then? That might make some sort of sense. Is that then what makes her so demure and anxious, so terrified of disappointing him? He doesn’t seem the kind to suffer simpering fools, yet is that not what she’s turned into right this moment? She certainly feels it, the need to impress him and make him forget anyone else exists.

What’s _wrong_ with her? Where’s all this insecurity coming from?

“Do I often try to lie with a student?” L asks sardonically, interrupting her introspective train of thought. He rubs a hand over his face, starting at his forehead and lingering on his chin. “No, not hardly,” he says at last.

Light messed up, didn’t she.

“Your uniform must be dry by now,” he says tiredly. “I’ll get it.” He jumps to his feet, not bothering to hide his erection and it’s all she can see for a few seconds, and then she’s watching his arse as he exits the living room.

Yeah, alright, she’s definitely gone and screwed things up.

In the short time that L’s gone, Light gets up and moves over to the sofa, curling up in the far corner, knees drawn up to her chest. She doesn’t understand why she feels the need to hide herself again, but something went horribly wrong and she doesn’t know what. She feels young, the way she felt when she first came to Wammy’s, fresh-faced and traumatised.

When L comes back into the room, Light follows him with her eyes until he’s standing in front of her, holding her skirt and her shirt. The sofa puts his crotch at eye-height, and even now she can see his dickprint.

They lock eyes for long seconds, amber and grey staring at each other with quiet intent, but then L moves away, deliberately breaking the moment. He throws her garments at her with an unreadable look, and she notes that he didn’t bring her underwear or her blazer, that sneaky bastard. Such mixed signals.

“There’s a bedroom upstairs, second door on the right, if you’re tired.”

“I’m not.” She is _exhausted_.

L shrugs. “Alright, suit yourself.”

Light sighs inaudibly at the walls he’s erected around himself once more, and while he hasn’t gone back to acting out the farce that is Ryuzaki, he’s also not the man she sat with this evening, and she doesn’t know how to fix it. Maybe she should go to bed after all, or at least leave the room, leave him alone to his thoughts and his cases. Sitting here is not going to do anything, and she has school in the morning. Christ, what time is it anyway? She doesn’t have her phone on her and the living room has no clock.

She yawns.

“Not tired, hmm?” he asks while sitting back down in front of her.

“What time is it?” Light asks instead.

“A quarter to twelve,” he answers distractedly, already typing away at his laptop.

“Ah, shite.” Light sighs. “Second door on the right?”

“Mhm.”

Light gets up from the sofa, hesitating near the door. “Aren’t you going to sleep?”

L pauses, then turns to her. “Are you asking me if I’m coming to bed?”

She flushes. “No,” she mutters.

His laughter is soft if slightly mocking. “Just checking. But no, I’ll be alright.”

* * *

Upstairs are three doors. One to the left of the stairs and two to the right. The one to the left leads to an empty office, which has a desk, a chair, a futon and a wall lined with bookcases. This is also the room with the window that had the branch leaning against it, though that’s gone now. The first door on the right is a spacious enough bathroom and the second is a bedroom.

The bedroom is largely empty, much like the rest of the house. The furniture the house has shows luxury and wealth, there’s just so little of it that Light feels uncomfortable with it. It doesn’t feel like much of a home, if anything. How can he live like this? Then again, he doesn’t really live here, just stays here every now and then before leaving without a word, usually with the students only finding out afterward. 

The bedroom holds a rather big bed, really it’s enormous, way too much space for just one person. Several colourful layers of blankets are spread out over a summer duvet, the combination of which makes Light’s eyebrows rise in confusion. Is L perpetually cold?

Light throws her skirt and her dress-shirt over the chair in front of the vanity then wiggles out of her sweats. She has no clue where her underwear has disappeared to, so she’ll have to do without. Where downstairs it was a bit chilly, this room is positively fervid. Is L not going to sleep? Well, whatever.

She climbs into bed and her nose is instantly assaulted with L’s citrus-y smell. She closes her eyes and buries her face into the pillow, and this too smells like citrus and clean laundry and something sweet.

The bed is too large, too empty and too cold. The only good thing is the window, the storm pelting it with so much rain it looks much like a mini-waterfall, one of the outside lanterns scantily illuminating the austere room. She doesn’t bother closing the curtains, prefers this.

But Light tosses and turns and can’t find sleep, her mind racing, her nostrils filled with L. Finally she just opens her eyes wide and stares at the red digits on the digital clock on the left bedside table, mistakenly thinking that this is a good substitute for counting sheep.

It’s not.

* * *

When the clock reads 0:47, Light growls with frustration and gets up. Fine, then. She was going to wait until 1:00 but she ran out of patience. Her eyelids feel ridiculously heavy, and she thinks she was dozing at some point, but then she’d breathe in deeply and she’d smell L and that sent her mind racing again, goddamn him.

She hisses when her bare feet hit a cold floor.

Light makes her way downstairs, half expecting the wooden stairs to creak loudly during her descent, but nothing happens. The overhead lamp is still on in the living room, so she figures L is still doing whatever it is that he was—

Oh.

He is—

L is stretched out on the sofa, one his hand wrapped around himself, holding her panties and dragging it up and down his hard cock along with his fingers, clearly using it to get himself off. He looks long with quite a bit of girth, large enough that she would feel it for a while afterward but not enough that it would seriously hurt her.

She doesn’t know what she blushes harder at, her own thoughts or L fisting his cock.

He curses loudly when he spots her, has the decency to cover himself up with the blanket, but Light already saw what he was doing, the image burned onto her corneas now. She doesn’t bother fighting the rising smirk; so that’s where her panties went.

“I thought you were sleeping,” L says, somewhat defensively.

Light snorts. “I gathered that. I’m not judging. Well, not much. You weren’t sniffing it, were you?”

L scrunches up his nose with obvious disgust. “Lord, _no_.” He sighs deeply and drops Light’s panties, _the ones he’d been using to masturbate with_ , Light can’t believe she caught him red-handed. “You’ve been teasing me for hours and now here you are. What have I done to deserve this?” he complains. “I’ve been half-hard _all day_.”

Light blushes slightly. “I noticed,” she mutters.

He gives her a long look, as if deciding on something, then finally pats the space next to him and says, “Why don’t you come sit with me, Light Yagami.”

A little nervous she does as told, sitting herself aside from him, not quite close enough to touch but close enough that he can put his arm on the backrest behind her and make her feel like she’s curled up in the crook of his arm. It feels impossibly intimate, his foot pushed up against her thigh. Daringly she turns to him and puts her legs between his, and though she tries not to look at his lap she feels her knee bump into his stiff member. He puts his hand on her other knee.

“Pay attention, little Light, because I will tell you this only once,” L says. 

She almost looks at him, but he chooses that moment to lean in and she stops herself just in time.

The cold tip of his nose brushes her earlobe for a moment before he raises his chin to whisper in her ear, “I’m not a good man, darling.” He squeezes her bare knee as if to point out what he meant by that, using his other hand to pull her head back by her ponytail, moving to press an open-mouthed kiss to throat.

* * *

Mello once told her, late at night when they were all dozing on Matt’s bed, that if a man tells you they’re not good for you, jokingly or not, the best thing to do is walk away. 

Light very much doubts that Mello had someone like L in mind when he said that.

* * *

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Hmm, good girl.” 

She feels his lips stretch into a smile against the base of her throat.

“And you know what else?”

“What?”

“I want to _fuck_ you,” L breathes into her skin, barely audible, and Light—

Light feels the words like they’re a punch to her gut, heat spreading out from her centre, making her fingers and her toes tingle and her nipples harden. A shiver runs down her spine and her knees feel weak while her pussy clenches almost painfully around nothing at all. Her mind is curiously blank. 

“ _Oh_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can't stress this enough: if someone tells you they're bad for you, _walk away_ , because chances are they're exactly what they say. This doesn't have to be in a romantic setting either. That said, I can't believe I still haven't reached the smut yet.


	3. Part Three

Despite his words, L doesn’t actually do anything. He just mouths at her throat and her neck for long moments, biting and licking and kissing her sensitive skin while Light tries not to squirm. She tilts her head away from him to give him more room. She wants to touch him back, but when her hands come up to touch his shoulder, he pulls back in a way that lets her know this is his show.

“You left a mark, didn’t you?” she sighs and she doesn’t need a clearer answer than his satisfactory smile. “How bad is it?” She shifts slightly, still half in his lap, pressing the side of her knee further against the base of his erection, hidden by the blanket.

His fingers trace over her throat, the side of her neck, her shoulder, pulling the oversized T-shirt further down with the tip of his index finger. “It’ll do,” he says, eyes dark. Clearing his throat, he puts the shirt back in place. “Now, go back to bed, get some sleep.”

“Don’t you need to sleep?” She doesn’t know what she wants. Does she want him to follow through with his words from earlier, does she want him to come to bed with her, or does she want to keep playing games? She needs to be alone to think, because whenever she’s around him, her mind just turns into pudding, nothing but her base instincts left.

“No, what I need is to continue,” L says.

Light bites her lip. “You can do that now.”

L’s smile is a terrible thing. “We’ll have time for that later.”

So he wants to play a game, wants to prolong it no doubt, and he’s going to drive Light up the wall with it, she’s sure. Slowly, telegraphing her movements, she leans forward in his lap and throws her arms around his shoulders, pressing herself against his chest. His arms come up to hold her and he squeezes her tightly, and that reassures a part of Light that she wasn’t even aware of.

“Go to bed, little Light,” he murmurs softly, pushing her away. “I’ll be here in the morning.”

* * *

The odds of Light falling asleep have lowered significantly, much lower than they were previously, and she ends up staring listlessly at the ceiling, squirming with leftover arousal, with the knowledge that L is downstairs taking care of himself, taking himself in hand. 

She knows now what he looks like when he’s bringing himself off.

Will he look the same when it’s her touching him in his most intimate places, expression relaxed, eyes closed and biting his lip with pleasure? God, but she’s _ridiculous_ wondering about this.

Light turns and yells obscenities into the pillow that smells like L.

* * *

In the morning she’s woken up by Mr. Wammy. After a quick shower in the luxurious bathroom, she makes her way downstairs where breakfast and L are both waiting. But L acts like they’re in his classroom, crouching dangerously on the barstool and concentrating instead on whatever’s on his laptop. He has an earpiece in and makes agreeable noises every now and then, eating fruit from a large bowl in between sounds.

Light can’t say she’s not disappointed, but then, she doesn’t know what she expected from him.

Mr. Wammy lets her go through the underground tunnels, first to the school and then the dorms, because the storm has only picked up during the night though it’s supposed to slow in the afternoon. It settles Light’s insecurities that she could’ve gone back but L chose to pretend differently, had wanted her around despite the way he acted this morning.

She knew that, somewhere deep in the back of her mind, but it’s nice to have confirmation like that.

* * *

“There she is!” Mello barks, quickly elbowed in the side by Matt with an expression that tells him to keep it down. “About time,” he snarks.

Light raises her eyebrows at the trio in front of her door as she unlocks the door to her room. All bedroom doors in the dorms have locks on them, but only those thirteen years old and up are allowed keys to actually lock them. “Were you waiting for me?”

“We tried calling you but your cell’s still in your room,” Matt says grumpily. 

“Were you with him last night?” Ryuk asks.

“Oh my god, at least wait until we’re inside,” Light hisses.

Mello snorts. “Everyone already knows,” he says, throwing the door closed behind them. “So were you?” he asks finally, leaning back against the door with his arms folded in front of his chest. “Word on the street is that you were with him all night. So?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” she says haughtily.

“Did you fuck?” Matt spells out.

“What? Is that—no!” Light denies vehemently.

Ryuk has already started laughing. “I don’t know why anyone thinks you’re a good liar.”

Light knows why that is; it’s something to do with L, because everything about her turns a few shades off when it comes to him, and apparently lying about her whereabouts is part of that. Her cheeks burn lightly at the accusations, mostly because she wishes it were true. “We didn’t sleep together,” she mutters.

Matt, perceptive arse, grins and says, “But not for lack of trying.”

“Shut up,” Light says mildly.

* * *

While Light has never been the popular one, that honour goes to Gaby, she’s never been on the receiving end of harsh whispers and filthy rumours either. According to her friends, Claire, who is in the running for a letter and is just below Matt and Mello, was patient zero for most of the vicious rumours, but nobody seems to care whom they came from, just that they exist at all.

Light only barely manages to keep her head up in the face of things, and she half expects to be called to Mr. Ruvie’s office at this point, if only to set him straight. But as usual, the teachers keep out of what the students are up to, and so Light has to deal with random questions all morning.

Just for all the trouble she’s in, she wishes they’d done more than what they really did.

The four friends hide out in the library in the afternoon, not because there’s nobody there—as usual it’s packed, like all students attending Wammy’s Academy decided to meet here at the same time—but because at least there people leave her alone, and if they don’t, the two librarians walking around make them. 

* * *

She has L’s class after dinner, which is him just supervising a class full of students working on their own homework. Light decides to work on her philosophy assignment but can’t concentrate on anything while sitting up front and with L staring at her intermittently. 

This isn’t any different from normal, however, and she isn’t sure what she expected. This is probably for the best, considering the wild rumours already flying around. She relaxes minutely.

But then about fifteen minutes into the session he deviates from the norm by motioning for her to sit next to him behind the teacher’s desk. Hesitantly she gets up and brings her chair over, and it turns out he’s working on a case again. Light is happy enough to help him, but all too aware of the many eyes on them.

The question she has to ask herself is this: does she care?

It’s not like they’re going to expel her, not unless L says so, and she doubts that’s what he’s going for here. She vividly remembers the way he told Mr. Ruvie to back off, and the way the man had done just as told, as if L is above the teachers. She’s always had this feeling, even before officially meeting him, but to see it confirmed is very different.

* * *

Apparently they’re so pulled in by each other and the case that neither really notices when the bell rings, but they look up when the class suddenly starts emptying. Matt in particular gives her a shit-eating grin as he walks past, and Light’s cheeks burn.

L waits until they’re all gone before speaking up. “Close the door, Light,” he says softly. “We’re not finished.”

Light gets up and darts to the door. Outside the classroom the hall is empty, though that doesn’t necessarily mean anything when it comes to L’s presence at the school and how everyone wants to be him or befriend him. No doubt they’re off to drop their books and perhaps change out of their uniforms, then they’ll come back. 

Her possessive streak breaks through the surface and she closes the door none too gently.

“Is there a problem?”

“What?” Light asks, distracted by her own thoughts as she closes the blinds as well. “Oh. No, sir, no problem.” She sounds unconvincing even to herself, but she can’t help it. She hates that everyone wants a piece of him, and apparently she’s right up there with them. _Get in line_ , she thinks viciously at the door before turning and going back to her seat next to the man.

Had she really been that deep in denial that she couldn’t see that she wanted him just as much as everyone else? But it doesn’t matter anymore either, because _she_ is sitting next to him after class, _she_ slept in his bed last night, not them. They don’t even know they’re fighting a losing battle for his attention, because _Light won_.

A hand on her knee brings her out of her reverie.

“Why are we going through old cases?” Light asks, trying to ignore the fingers touching the inside of her leg with long strokes. She recognises the photo from one of the cases from last night that he’d showed her. “That one, it’s the— _hmm_.” Her eyelids flutter when his hand travels impossibly higher, fingertips under her skirt and ghosting over her inner thigh.

“Yes?” he asks, terribly amused.

She clears her throat. “The m-mother,” she stutters.

“Why?” he presses casually. He removes his hand and turns her in her chair so she’s sitting sideways, facing him with her back toward the door. Satisfied with his handiwork, he wastes no time putting one hand on each knee, moving them up her legs and taking her skirt with them. He stares at her bare flesh, his grey eyes hidden behind his hair. If he keeps that up, he’s going to notice—“Why?” he repeats.

Light tries to think of the words, but all arguments have fled in the face of his touch, and she leans heavily against the backrest of the chair. She wants to return the favour, the strangest urge to run her fingers through his mop of hair, wipe the dark locks out of his eyes, but she doesn’t think he’ll let her, and she doesn’t want to ruin things again, wants to see where he’s taking this, how far he’ll go before something or other makes him change his mind.

L’s thumbs swipe at her skin, pressing into her inner thighs, index fingers so close to her centre. If he pushes any further up, he’s going to notice the way she’s soaking her panties already, and knowing him the way she does now, he’s going to laugh at how eager she is for him, the way she did a complete 180 once she realised her feelings.

Light is more than a little aware of the door at her back and the fact that she didn’t lock it because wouldn’t that be more suspicious if someone went looking for L and found a locked door? Sure, it’d give her more time to compose herself, but it’s not like the implications of having to wait aren’t damning enough.

“Stop worrying so much, little Light,” L murmurs. 

“I can’t help it,” she gasps.

“I know, try it anyway.”

Easier said than done, especially when Light gets the sense that all L is doing is playing with her, cataloguing her responses to his questing fingers. She tries to keep her wits about her, but it’s rather hard with how sensitive she is and how much she wants him inside her, whether his fingers or his cock or even a toy, she doesn’t care, just _something_ to soothe her pulsing pussy.

His fingertips reach the line of her panties and she spreads her legs wider for him, bumping her clothed opening against his knuckle. He starts with surprise, his fingers twitching, but then hooks a finger under the soft fabric and pulls it to the side, running a fingertip through her centre. It comes away dripping.

“So wet and I’ve barely touched you yet,” L comments.

Light would be crimson if her complexion managed to colour that way, but luckily for her it doesn’t. Her face merely heats at the casual observation, at the evidence of her eagerness. “I’m just a little sensit—oh, _fuck_ yes,” she moans when a single digit pushes past her entrance and she clutches the back of her chair, squeezing her eyes closed.

L makes a low sound. “Beautiful.”

But this is a side of Light that she’s not so confident about, inexperienced and insecure despite her friendly arrangements, and so her first instincts are to close her legs together and hide from him in case he’s mocking her. All that does is trap his hand between her legs along with one of his knees. 

He chuckles darkly. “No?” he asks. “Don’t hide from me now, little Light.”

Reluctantly she opens her legs again, wider this time, seated on the edge of her chair, aware of how wanton she must look. She hates the way she clenches around his finger when he calls her good girl, and through half-lidded eyes she watches his expression grow smug and he gives her a second finger, almost like a reward. 

She lets her head fall back as he fingers her mercilessly, flicking her clit with his thumb to emphasise the movement of his fingers. Before long she’s shaking, holding tightly onto her chair, her hips following his hand, and she keens desperately.

“Are you going to come on my fingers?” L murmurs in her ear.

“No, sir,” Light whispers truthfully, because as much as she loves what he’s doing to her, she can already tell that it’s not going to happen in this setting, too aware of herself and her surroundings to relax enough for an orgasm to hit her. It already takes a lot for her to come, but the added stress is definitely not helping, no matter how turned on she is.

“And why’s that?” he asks, though he doesn’t _seem_ to be judging, but who knows.

 _Because we’re in your classroom and anyone can walk in on us_ , she thinks, but she can only gasp in answer when he pushes his fingers in deep and keeps them there, and once more she hopes nobody’s looking through the windows. “Ryuzaki,” she moans.

“Answer me, please,” he says flatly.

Light gets distracted by his expert fingers, but when she takes too long to answer they suddenly retreat, and she cries out with frustration. “I can’t, sir, not here.” She feels a little odd calling him _sir_ when he only seconds ago had two of his fingers buried deep in her pussy, but he never told her to stop. The only thing he told her to stop is calling him _doctor_ , and she did, but he’s still her teacher, he’s still _L_ , master detective.

That’s not to say it doesn’t add a layer between them that Light’s still figuring out. Something arousing, something forbidden, his attention taboo yet she holds it all the same. Does it make it more exciting for him as well, or is this just one of Light’s many sexual quirks? Some of which she wasn’t even aware of until L started this thing between them.

“Do you want me to stop?” L asks.

Light shakes her head, arching her back when his fingers plunge back in and continue their ministrations, massaging her walls and stroking her g-spot without offering her a reprieve. She draws her left knee up, resting her foot on the seat of the chair and spreading her legs as far as she can in her current position, riding his fingers, desperate for more. She’s panting, so close she feels like she can burst with it, but she never tips over the edge.

He takes her back from the edge by gradually slowing down, until she’s twitching in her chair, her legs quivering, tear-tracks on her cheeks that they don’t comment on. 

“Okay?” he asks.

Light nods, wiping at her eyes. “Okay,” she says. 

“C’mere then,” he says, pulling on her arm until she gets with the program and slumps down in his lap, buries her face in his neck and smells citrus.

“Are you going to fuck me?” she asks in a small voice.

“Not tonight, little Light.” He pulls on her hair until she looks up, then kisses her nose. “Do you want to come?”

She nods again.

“Don’t worry, I won’t leave you hanging,” he says.

“It’s probably better if you do,” Light admits, much as she hates it, squirming under his inquisitive gaze. “Things get…” She grimaces. “Very wet.”

His eyes light up with interest. “Oh?”

“Not always,” she confesses. “Just—when I’m—when it’s really good.”

He looks _delighted_ at the news.

* * *

It takes a while for Light to regain proper use of her legs. She tests it a few times, taking a walk around the classroom, L’s soft if smug laughter at seeing her flounder ringing in her ears when she stumbles. He _really_ is an arrogant bastard, yet here she is liking that too. 

It only serves to endear him to her further.

The storm has passed, and so they have no reason to use the tunnels. Instead, they exit the school building through the back, walking around it and the back of the dorms to avoid the eyes of most people, though it’s inevitable someone will see them regardless. As they pass one of the reinforced doors that Light recognises as leading to the underground tunnels, she’s reminded of last night once more.

“What happened to not being allowed inside the underground tunnels?” she asks.

L looks down at her, wearing an innocent expression. “I was uninformed.”

* * *

He takes her to his house, where she follows him up the stairs to the now familiar bedroom. The bed is exactly the way Light left it in the morning, which must mean that Mr. Wammy approved of the way she made it. They throw off their shoes in the door opening, L’s socks following though Light keeps hers on.

“Make no mistake,” L says as he pushes Light back onto the bed, “all I want is for us to _talk_ for now.”

Light turns to her side to watch him and grimaces; she’d rather not, thanks. She sits up to throw her blazer in the direction of her shoes, then lays back down again.

L kneels on the bed next to her for a moment. “You see, what I hate more than repeating myself is miscommunication that could easily have been avoided by something as simple as a conversation, embarrassing or not.”

Light pushes her tongue against the roof of her mouth, then moves so she can rest her head on his arm instead. “If you can’t talk about it, you shouldn’t do it?”

He smiles though it’s hard to see in the dark, with the curtains closed so there’s no lowering sun casting its last sunlight of the day into the room. “Something along those lines as well, yes.” He pulls her close, their legs entwined, and he puts a warm hand on the base of her throat. “Oh, little Light,” he sighs.

He kisses her so softly she feels it in her bones, toes curling in her socks. 

Despite telling her all he wanted to do is talk, his hand lowers to undo the buttons of her uniform, starting at the top and slowly making his way down until they’re all undone. But then he stops, pulling back from the kiss and laughing at himself. “Fuck, that _may_ be a bit of a bad start.” He fiddles with the clasp of Light’s bra, the only one she has that opens in the front, as if contemplating whether he should undo that as well or not. “Hmm, maybe later.” He gives her another kiss, chaste this time.

“Talk,” Light reminds him. She can already tell she’s going to hate this, but L is exactly the type of person to stick to his idea, temporarily distracted by her tits or not. “Isn’t this your show?”

“It is, isn’t it?” he confirms brightly.

Light hums. Whatever it is that he wants to talk about, she’s not going to be the one to start. Personally she thinks it might be a bit early to have any sort of talk at all, but then, what does she know. Clearly L is experienced enough to know what to do, whereas Light just has experience with fumbling under the covers with friends, an entirely different setting with a very different ruleset. There’s no talking involved there, because all parties understand that it’s just fooling around, getting to know someone else’s body without strings attached.

This is new to Light.

“You’re so young,” L laments.

“I’m not that young,” she protests, and then thinks, _shite,_ because protesting age is one of the first signs that you’re too young, Mello said. But then, Mello says a lot of things, half of which is outright bullshit and the rest she’ll find out herself. As the oldest, he fancies himself the wisest as well.

L’s smile is sardonic. “Indeed.”

“How old are you?” Light asks.

“Too old for you,” L answers with a lazy roll of his hips, rubbing his hard member against her thigh, as if he can’t help himself. 

From the stern look on his face it’s clear that’ll be all he’ll say on the topic as well. Light’s alright with that, she doesn’t need to know the fine details to know that she wants him to pound her into the mattress. She doesn’t understand the point of discussing it. What is there to say?

“I don’t normally insist on talking first, but Light seems very… receptive to—well.” He drags two fingers from the base of her throat down to between her breasts, where he pauses before going further and then pushing them into the soft flesh of her belly. “I’m dominant by nature, and I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”

She kind of knew that already, with the way he’s been deciding what they’ve done so far, little as it is, but to have him say it to her face is a different matter. Is he implying what she thinks he’s implying? A shiver runs down her spine and she doesn’t know whether she should stay or run for the hills.

“I’m not _that_ submissive,” she says stubbornly. “If you’re looking for—” 

“Not quite,” L interrupts mildly before she really gets going. “But that doesn’t make me any less of a dominant man and it doesn’t make you any less appealing to my baser instincts. I know what _I_ want from you, but do _you_ know what you want from me?”

Does Light know what she wants, other than the basics? _Is_ there anything that she wants, something specific? She can’t think of anything, other than maybe kissing and getting fingered, body fiddled with. She likes making out and she liked his fingers in her and would very much like to go back to that, but she has the feeling that L’s far from done. 

“Kissing,” Light settles on, though she doesn’t think that’s what he meant when he asked her what she wants. She just doesn’t know the answer to that. “And, er, fingers,” she adds awkwardly.

“You like getting fingered?” L asks. “Even if you can’t come?”

Light nods. 

Her face feels like it’s permanently hot in his presence. She likes being played with, fingers on her and in her, toying with her until she’s a sobbing mess, though that happened only once so far. She would very much like that again and she thinks L can easily get her there, if earlier this evening as any indication, still highly keyed up from his touch.

“I couldn’t stop thinking,” she says, a little annoyed when she remembers just _how_ worried she was about people walking in on them and seeing her like that. “I don’t like anyone seeing me like that who shouldn’t.” Including the way Mr. Ruvie saw her when he walked in, her nipples so clearly visible through the thin fabric of her borrowed T-shirt that she may as well have sat bare.

“What else do you like?”

Light swallows. “I don’t really know yet. I like—” She cuts herself off, highly embarrassed at the topic of conversation, but she keeps reminding herself that if she can’t say it out loud, she shouldn’t do it, right? She much prefers her friends-with-benefits arrangements, where things are just implied and assumed and it’s mostly trial and error.

“You like…?” L prompts.

But what can it hurt, telling him? “Being played with,” she tells him in a rush. “As long as you finish what you start.”

“Of course.” 

And then, at last, conversation seems to be over, because he catches her mouth in a searing kiss, unlike the previous chaste ones, kissing her so thoroughly she feels like she’s on fire. He moves until he’s between her legs, elbows resting on each side of her head and his hands in her hair as he devours her so fully she can’t do anything but give in, and he fucks her mouth so expertly he easily overwhelms her.

His hardened cock pushes up against her centre, rubbing against her soaked underwear in motions so small she doubts he’s aware he’s doing it. He feels massive like this and the material of his jeans chafes slightly but not enough to bring Light out of it. He helps her out of her underwear and it lands somewhere near her shoes, after which the rest of her clothing follows suit.

“I said not tonight,” L mutters when he finally has her bare underneath him, stroking her chest and cupping one of her breasts, “but god, you’re so fucking _tempting_. What is it about you?” He sounds genuinely puzzled and turned on at the same time. He makes no move to get out of his own clothes, however.

“Why not tonight?” Light whines.

“I enjoy the build up,” L says simply. He hums, kisses her again to distract her from the rest of her complaints. “Do you think you can come?”

“Yes,” she whispers against his lips, “ _please_.” She’s trembling in his embrace, one of her hands on his arse to encourage his slow grinding and the other clutches at his upper arm. She feels she could burst into tears at any moment, overwhelmed and needy.

“Please, what?” he asks.

“Please, sir.”

L chuckles. “Not what I meant, but that works even better.”

“I want to come on your cock.”

“ _Jesus_ ,” he breathes. 

Her nipples are so hard they’re hot and cold at the same time, sending little shockwaves through her tits at the feel of his long-sleeved shirt. Usually nipple play hurts, but she’s so turned on she thinks he can mess with them and she’d like it. She decides to undo his jeans first before trying that out, however, wants to feel even closer to him, and without his jeans in the way maybe he’ll change his mind and fuck her.

She reaches between them with intent, and he lets her, dark amusement rolling off of him in waves. He hums appreciatively when her hand bumps into his cock as she undoes the button and slides down his zipper and she pushes his jeans out of the way. She’s a little saddened to encounter boxers, fabric stretched thin over his large erection.

When she folds her fingers around him, or as much as she can at any rate, she frowns in confusion. “Oh.”

“Not good?” L asks, sounding thoroughly unaffected and holding still, one hand close to hers where he’s lazily dragging his fingertips through her slit from top to bottom and back again.

“It’s just… you’re bigger than I thought you were,” she says sheepishly.

“And is that a good or a bad thing?”

“Good, I think.” 

Her pussy throbs at the idea of something that large in her. She isn’t looking forward to the pain per se, because she doubts it’ll be painless no matter how much he opens her up beforehand. However, being forced onto an enormous cock is hot somehow, with L just pushing in regardless of how much it hurts her—though the reality of so much pain isn’t appealing at all, the fantasy of it has her even wetter than before, clenching down on nothing.

L, of course, notices this. “What are you thinking about, little Light?”

She keens when he pushes two fingers inside, pumping them in and out of her in a slow but steady rhythm. Her legs fall open wider and her eyes roll back, her mouth opened slightly.

“So sensitive.”

“S-sorry,” she stammers, trying to come back to herself but it’s hard when his fingers feel so good inside her, with the attention he pays to her g-spot. He bends his back to mouth at her tits and worries a nipple lightly between his teeth. She thinks she can come from this, from his fingers and the way he sucks on her nipple. She wants more of his touch, wants it harder and rougher, wants him to squeeze her tit so hard it borders on hurt, which is the way she likes her breasts played with, but she doesn’t know how to tell him without sounding like a total masochist, because she’s not.

He must see that she’s bursting to say something, however. “Go on, tell me what you like.”

“Harder,” Light whispers, “please.” 

Already she’s so close. She arches her back with a cut-off moan when he fingers her harder, teeth biting her nipple just enough for a sting but not enough to hurt, which is more than she can say for her friendly arrangements, who have yet to figure out how much is too much.

“I’m gonna—” But she stops herself, her breath stuck in her throat.

“You can be loud, little Light, it’s okay,” he murmurs.

L _knows_ what he’s doing, personifies the stark difference between an experienced man and mere schoolboys. He is L, the best detective in the world, idolised by so many, yet here she is under his spell.

It’s that thought that breaks Light, and her body starts locking up. 

L lets go of her nipple as he sits up and looks down at her pussy while he speeds up, her back arching and her hips moving wantonly with the movements of his hand. He doesn’t stop, fingering her roughly through her peak as she starts crying, so overwhelmed she can’t do anything else. Her pussy leaks freely over his fingers and his wrist and onto the bed while her body jerks around. 

“ _Fuck_ me,” L whispers. “Look at that, so pretty when she comes.”

“I’m s-sorry,” Light sobs as he gathers her into his arms, tightening his embrace to help against the aftershocks of her violent orgasm. He kisses her hair and her cheeks and then her mouth, and he says nothing, just holds her. 

As she floats in the aftermath, she marvels at this man, who seems to know exactly what she wants, what she needs. 

How lucky she is, then, to have him like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was supposed to be anywhere between 3k and 5k. Then it became a 2-parter with an alternative ending, hence the 3 chapters. But now here we are at the end of part 3 and they haven't even had proper sex yet. So much for that lol.


	4. Part Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here, finally, comes the smut.

Light regains her senses slowly, and mentally gags when she realises the directions her thoughts were taking. As possessive as she is and as much as she loves to stake her claims, she knows this thing between them is too new to do any of that yet. She doesn’t want to come across as some crazy girlfriend type, but she’ll be the first to admit she feels butterflies in her stomach at the idea of having a claim on L.

She’s on her side with L spooning her, riding her arse slowly. She arches her back lazily, pushing her breasts further into L’s fiddling hand, his other on the trackpad of his laptop that he must have got downstairs when she was floating inside her own mind. She hadn’t even noticed him getting up, damn.

Light snorts once she gets a good look at the screen. “Why are you looking at sex toys?”

He kisses her shoulder and she pushes her arse out to give him more to work with, which he gladly makes use of. He wurms his hand between her legs, fingertips pushing against her opening but not going in. “Your pretty cunt’s too tight,” he says bluntly. “You’re too possessive to appreciate the use of my old toys, so new ones it is.”

So he already pegged her as possessive. Well then. It’s not like he’s _wrong._

Light scrunches up her nose at the thought of used toys, however. “I’m sure they’re clean, but yeah, no offence.”

“If it makes little Light feel better, I used them to experiment on paid companionship.”

Light still feels like she’s laid on cloud nine. “Paid companionship,” she repeats.

“Mhm, they let me do whatever I want within certain limits.”

“I’m sure your previous partners were very happy with the results of those experiments.”

L laughs. “That was a pathetic attempt, little Light. I was going to give you another orgasm, but just for that you’ll have to wait.” Which wouldn’t be a problem if he hadn’t pushed two fingers back into her pussy as he said it, intent on driving her crazy. “Hmm, I bet you’re still very sensitive.”

She giggles, squirming in his hold until she’s fully turned around, his arms still around her, though they fall down to the small of her hips when she sits up, pushes him onto his back and straddles him, settling on his cock. He’s got rid of his jeans, only the thin boxers separating his hard member from her entrance.

She pulls down his boxers anyway, and his expression darkens. “Light,” he warns but he doesn’t stop her.

“What?” she replies innocently.

“I’m doing another experiment, to see how long I can hold out.”

“From fucking me?”

“From coming.”

“You didn’t come last night?”

He shakes his head, biting his lip when his bare cock slides through her wet slit, dripping slick onto his shaft, catching on her opening. Unfortunately L is right and she’s too tight and he’s too big to just slide in. He could probably force her, she thinks, a coil of want sitting hot in her stomach. He could just ignore her pleas and force her open with his cock, painful though it would be. Another one of her fantasies that sound better in her head than in real life, no doubt.

And then it’s like her brain suddenly turns back on. “Shit, what time is it?” She glances at the clock on the bedside table, then winces. Almost second curfew. 

L sits up, stroking her flank for a second then cupping her cheek and capturing her lips in a quickly deepening kiss. “Stay a little longer,” he whispers afterward. “I’ll walk you back so you won’t get into trouble.”

“People will wonder,” she whispers back in the pocket of space between them.

“They already do.” He pecks her on the lips. “Do you care that they do? It’s alright if you do.”

Her first instinct is to lie, but she doesn’t think he’ll appreciate that much. “Yes,” she admits.

* * *

Nevertheless he walks her back, taking the meandering brick path that runs across the grounds, his posture hunched in case anyone’s watching. Well, Light is walking the path, L is walking on the grass, barefooted. Their way is illuminated by street lanterns. It’s six minutes past curfew, but in many of the dorm rooms the lights are still on though most of the curtains are closed.

At the door, Light pauses, but they’re teacher and student once more, his hand on the small of her back notwithstanding. She wants a kiss but the time for those has come and gone, and she’ll have to—

L briefly glances behind Light, then leans in and gives her one of the best kisses she’s ever received. She withholds a moan as he presses her up against the door, breath stuck in her throat as he ravishes her. “Come see me Saturday night,” he murmurs when he’s done. He pushes a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. “M’kay?”

“Okay,” she agrees breathlessly.

With a last peck he hops down the steps, hands in his jeans pockets as he hunches forward and walks back through the grass to his house. When Light turns around, Claire and Matt are standing at the top of the stairs.

Well shit.

What an absolute jerk.

* * *

Classes resume for Light as normal, though in L’s she still sits in the front. Sometimes they share a smile, but most of the time he’s business as usual, crouched in his weird frog position, shoes somewhere under the desk. Her papers come back from him with almost vituperative comments, as if he’s overcompensating for the way he held her and kissed her the other evening. 

Maybe he is, but that doesn’t mean she has to lie down and take such abuse from him.

She waits until Saturday to confront him because she doesn’t have it in her to approach him earlier, too angry at the kind of nasty comments he left. Waiting hasn’t helped her cool down any, but at least the other paper she got back from him was normal if a little sharply worded where he basically told her to _be better_. 

Light wasn’t expecting sudden perfect grades, as she didn’t think it was transactional, and she’s glad for the confirmation, but she could do without the heavy overcompensation. She gets it, he wants things to stay the same in his classroom. He could have just told her that instead of attacking her.

* * *

He’s sitting on the patio, reading a book. When he sees her, he smiles softly, and that sight is enough to take the brunt of her anger away. That still leaves plenty, however, and she stomps up to him and slams her papers down onto the table. She’s so angry that she doesn’t even know where to start, but she feels frustration rear its ugly head, and she’d rather be angry, than burst into frustrated tears, thanks.

“Why,” she snaps.

His smile disappears. “Why what?”

“You know what, my papers. _Sir_.”

“You mean the comments?”

“Yes!” she shrieks.

“Oh, jesus.” L sighs. “I can assure you, they were entirely sarcastic in nature,” he says flatly.

“Well, I didn’t find them very funny!” Light seethes. “This is my homework, this is _serious_ , Ryuzaki! You know I—”

“It’s summer homework, Light,” L interrupts tiredly, rubbing his forehead. “Goddamnit, this is exactly why I didn’t—” He shakes his head, his mutterings reaching such a low volume that she can’t hear him anymore.

“Why you didn’t _what_?” she spits angrily. “You know by now that I take my schoolwork seriously,” she adds.

L sighs. “Come sit with me for a moment.”

Light folds her arms in front of her chest. “Why?” she asks stubbornly.

“Just humour me, please.”

She stares at him for a long time, trying to figure out what angle he’s trying to work here, but she can’t see it. At last she gives up and sits down in his lap, her arms automatically coming around his shoulders while one of his hands settles on her stomach, playing with the hem of her shirt.

“I’m sorry, little Light.” It looks like it pains him to say it. “I thought you understood that—” 

“Okay, that’s the beginning of a _shite_ apology,” Light snarks.

“—summer wo—don’t interrupt me, Light.” 

What a hypocrite.

“I thought you understood that summer work is done as a way to keep the brain engaged and to keep the children busy.” He kisses her shoulder. “But it’s important to you, and I should’ve remembered that.”

“Fine,” she snaps, still not satisfied with the situation and even less satisfied with that terrible example of an apology. It’s like someone tried to teach him how to properly apologise and he decided to pick and choose which parts to use and then mangled it.

“Don’t sulk, darling,” L says, kissing her softly until she unfreezes.

“I’m not sulking,” Light pouts. “Your comments were really nasty.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” he says.

“Fine,” she repeats, softer this time.

“Tea?”

* * *

The weather is calm, a balmy Saturday evening, and they sit wrapped in a large blanket in a wicker chair on the patio. Mr. Wammy, who has a beautiful quarters in the basement that L showed her earlier when he gave her a longer tour of the house, chooses to join them outside, with several newspapers in front of him. He doesn’t bat an eye at the pair.

“Purple,” Light says firmly.

L frowns, then smiles slightly, a little sadly. “Hmm, when I was three, my father took us to a hotel by the sea. I don’t remember much of it, just that the curtains were purple and the lamps were blue and the swimming pool, it had this really high wall with a waterfall. Apparently we stayed there for a weekend.”

“What about you, Mr. Wammy?” Light asks.

“Oh, oh dear,” he says, as if shocked she’d call on him. He folds his newspaper and puts it in front of him on the table. “A purple memory, you say?” He chuckles suddenly. “Ah, well, when I was a small boy, I was maybe ten, eleven, twelve… oh, well, my maths teacher loved purple. She had everything in purple, from her shoes to her pencils. Mrs. Whitfeld, I remember her very clearly.”

Both L and Light wear disgusted expressions. “She sounds horrid,” L says.

“Oh, she was,” Mr. Wammy laughs, taking a sip of his tea. “She couldn’t teach if her life depended on it.”

“Sounds like _someone_ we know,” Light teases.

L pokes her stomach under the blanket with a grin. “What’s your purple memory?”

Light shifts in his hold. “My mother had a brooch with a purple flower on it that she would wear to fancy dinners. I think she got it from my father’s grandmother. One time my sister and I were so sick she had to stay home, but my father hated those dinners, so she gave my father the brooch. He put it in his pocket, so she was there with him anyway.” She snorts at the memory and smiles at her lap, at how sweet her parents had been together.

“Yellow,” L says softly, breaking the silence that has fallen over them.

* * *

It’s nearing curfew when Mr. Wammy retreats to his quarters. Apparently the man is still on call, though L won’t disturb him until the morning, giving the older man plenty of time to sleep, or so he claims.

“Are you staying tonight?” L asks, stroking her cheek.

Light leans into his touch. “I didn’t bring anything.”

“Text one of your friends to get your bag, I’m sure they wouldn’t mind the trip. You have each other‘s keys, yes?”

“I can make the trip myself,” Light says, a little exasperated with the evidence of his lazy arse once more. “That’s not the _point_ ,” she says with a chuckle, kissing him softly.

“Mhm, yes, of course.” He pulls away with a little huff of laughter. “ _However_ , if you ask your friends to do it, you won’t have to get up. You can stay here, with me.”

“Then come with me,” she argues.

L pulls a face. “I’d rather not.”

* * *

It turns out that it takes closer to an hour, during which a number Light doesn’t recognise texts her to _HURRY UP,_ which she promptly ignores though it brings a smile to her face. She saves the number in her contacts as _Dr. Rue_ because now she knows he hates being addressed that formally. 

She can see from their faces that Matt and Mello are beyond curious. Ryuk just thinks it’s hilarious she’s sleeping with a teacher—“I’m not sleeping with him.”-“Not yet, you mean.”—and especially that everyone knows about it but nobody’s doing something.

“If it gets out he’s sleeping with a student he’ll be in a lot of trouble, L or not,” Matt says from where he’s seated at her desk, console in hand and playing a godawful high-pitched tune. “That was one hell of a kiss.”

“I don’t know why he did that in front of Claire of all people,” Light complains.

“As a warning,” Mello says, lazily tucked away in the corner between her headboard and her wall with one of his numerous bars of chocolate. “She wants that letter, remember.”

“I thought Near was the shoe-in,” Light says as she puts her boots on. 

Apparently she missed a few of the letter-sessions as they’re called, where the top five _interested_ students get to help L, in an official capacity, with cases he doesn’t feel like solving. That includes all the paperwork that comes with that, or so Matt explained it to her. Light has always declined the invitation, mostly because apart from two occasions that she knows of, they never got to meet L anyway, which would’ve been her sole reason for accepting.

Ryuk grunts, half inside his Soulcalibur game yet still aware enough to answer, “He is, but she still thinks she can pass those two.” He shrugs a shoulder at them, then curses at the medium sized TV screen. 

“She can try,” Matt says mildly.

Light smirks. As laconic Matt seems, he’s very competitive about his spot. There’s no way Claire or Pitter, the other boy, are going to become second in the race, a spot shared by the two Matt and Mello. Pitter might come close, he’s certainly dedicated enough. As ambitious as Claire is, she wastes too much time on socialising, more so than she can afford to anyway, like she’s wavering between wanting to be Gaby, the popular girl, or L.

Or perhaps she wants to be _with_ L.

No, don’t go there, Light.

Ryuk pauses his game and turns. “I thought Veer said they might split up the group into two,” he says, eyes flickering over to Mello on the bed.

Light looks up. “Top three and the bottom two?” she guesses.

Ryuk nods. “Or mix them up, who knows,” he adds. “Or maybe Near on his own, Matt and Mello together and Claire and Pitter together.”

“That’s all speculation, Mr. Veer’s just guessing,” Matt says with a shake of his head. “He knows as much as we do, except he’s a teacher, so people take what he says seriously.”

“To be fair, it’s not like L’s going to retire anytime soon,” Ryuk argues. “It would make sense to split you guys up.”

But Light, who has seen L work on his detective cases, realised earlier that she has yet to see a new one. Most of the dates on the documents she’s seen are old, so he’s either reviewing his own old cases or he’s giving them to younger students and then reviewing their work. She has yet to see anything with a newer date than a little less than a year ago. That’s not to say she’s excluding the possibility that he’s just not showing her new work, but… Light has a feeling, and usually her instincts are correct.

Why wouldn’t he have taken new cases since then?

Well, whatever the reason is, she very much doubts he’ll confide in her. Despite his willingness to have her near, that doesn’t mean he’s willing to divulge his secrets to her. Hell, even getting regular memories from him during their colour-conversation was a lot like pulling teeth, his stories like swiss cheese.

Her phone plays a little game-over tune, courtesy of Matt, and Light smiles slightly when she sees it’s _Dr. Rue_ again, getting impatient with her continued absence.

_Are you on your way yet? =(_

**Depends** , Light types back. **How long am I staying?**

_How long do you want to be staying?_

**For however long I’m welcome...**

_Nice. You’ve acclimatised well, haven’t you? How about “we’ll see”, then._

Light laughs. **Not helpful.**

_Then just grab enough for the weekend? So you don’t have to go back again._

**Sure, that sounds fine.**

_“Fine”..._

**I’m packing, go away.**

  
  


_Packing_ consists of Light throwing a clean outfit and a clean uniform in her book-bag, along with her laptop and two of her notebooks. The school has mostly moved over to digital schoolwork, but Light likes drafting her essays by hand before typing it all over again in a word processing program, even if her hand hurts at the end of it.

Giving each of the boys a peck on their cheek and extracting a promise from them to lock the door behind them, she races down the steps to the front door. She spots Claire approaching her from the edge of her vision, but she ducks out before she can get too close, pretending not to have seen her.

First curfew passed at half ten, which means they’re supposed to stay in the dorms now, until the second curfew at eleven, at which point they’re supposed to stay in their rooms. Light feels confident that if someone stops her, she can point to L and claim extenuating circumstances, because L will forever be the staff’s sweetheart. Look at Mr. Ruvie, he may not have liked it, but he bowed to L’s wishes, just like the rest of the staff does, with perhaps the exception being Mr. Wammy.

The house is barely lit up, two lanterns standing on each side of the path to the front door, but Light takes the path to the back of the house, where suddenly she smells marijuana in the air. She sniffs again in confusion, wrinkling her nose, but then voices drift toward her.

“—break her heart, Ryuzaki,” Mr. Wammy is saying, sounding stern.

Light kneels in the grass behind the rhododendrons with a frown.

“You’re talking about Light Yagami, she’s smarter than that,” L argues.

“Don’t underestimate the power of puppy love.”

“She’s hardly—”

Mr. Wammy uses his folded newspaper to slap L on his arm and Light fights an amused snort at the sight. “You’re not listening to me.”

“Watari, I _am_ listening to you,” L says, darting away from another slap with a chuckle. “I just happen to disagree.”

Maybe she should just—yeah. Light creeps back to the front of the building, hopefully unseen by the detective and his employee, and uses the door knocker instead. She learned that the door knocker is connected to a sensor that sends a notification to L’s laptop and automatically opens camera footage so he can see who it is.

She waits patiently, and then Mr. Wammy opens the door with a friendly smile. He lets her through, nodding toward the living room through which the patio door is, and she makes her way to the back of the house again.

She stops at the sight that greets her.

L changed out of his regular white shirt and baggy jeans, dressed in sweatpants and a sweater against the cool temperature of the evening. He’s stretched out in the wicker chair, one leg crossed over the other, holding onto his ankle with one hand while his other one is holding—

“Is that a _spliff_?” she asks incredulously.

He looks up, eyes already half-lidded. He hums. “It helps slow down my thoughts enough so that I can sleep,” he explains, lazily taking a long drag. He smirks. “Ever tried?” he asks, wisps of smoke escaping from between his lips before he blows the rest out in circles. He takes another hit then makes a come-hither motion, and she knows what he wants.

“If only people knew what a bad influence you are,” Light says playfully, moving in to receive her mock-kiss, leaning her hands on his legs. He turns it into the filthiest kiss she’s ever received and her moan turns into a cough from the smoke filling her lungs. “Shit, that’s strong,” she complains, turning and falling against a firm chest.

His chest rumbles with laughter and an arm curls around her torso. “Is it? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Yes, because, you’re fucking turnt, aren’t you.”

“I might have overdone it. Got bored, waiting for you.”

She kisses the ridiculous pout away and settles herself more comfortably in his lap. “So, what, you smoke when you want to sleep?” She takes a drag when he offers, holding it in for a few seconds and then blowing lazy circles.

“Nice, you’ve had practice.”

“Blame Matt for that,” she grins, although to be fair it’s actually Ryuk’s influence that makes her able to do that. Mello and Ryuk like to spend their Friday nights high as kites, after which Matt beats their arses at whatever video game they’ve decided to play that night.

“It’s less that I _want_ to sleep and more that I _have_ to sleep,” L finally answers her earlier question. “Right now it’s been a few days. My brain needs the rest. Please spare me the drugs talk, Light.”

“I wasn’t going to,” she instantly says, and it’s true. It’s his business. “Why? Have others done that?”

L purses his lips together, just looking at her for a second, then asks, “What’s with your fascination with my previous partners? They’re not with me for a reason.”

Her face heats slightly, and already she feels a little fuzzy from the pot. It never takes much for her to get high, to her friends’ delight. “It’s just curiosity, nothing more.”

“I know you like winning, I do too, but stop trying to compare yourself, for fuck’s sake. Trust me, it doesn’t work that way.” He coughs and throws the joint in the ashtray on the table. His leg bounces and Light has to hold onto his shoulder to keep from toppling over. “Just let it go, darling,” he says, voice softer.

Time to bring the topic back to safer waters, Light thinks as she shifts in his arms. “How’s your experiment going?” she asks instead.

“As if you don’t know,” he says.

Light blinks innocently up at him. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Were you aiming to turn me on?”

Light smirks. Wednesday evening she’d foregone wearing her bra, though outside class her blazer covered that up nicely. In L’s classroom, she made sure that it didn’t. “Did it work?”

“I was so hard I’m surprised nobody took notice.”

“It’s because you crouch like a weirdo,” Light tells him bluntly. “So did you touch yourself after class?”

“Mhm.” He lowers his head to kiss her properly. “But did I finish? No.”

“Really? I want to make you come tonight.” She licks her lips. “Sir.”

L’s fingers twitch minutely at that last little word, proving once more that it was a good idea to keep saying it. Light wants to know what makes him tick, and if calling him _sir_ every now and then is part of what gets to him, then who is she to stop using it? His responses heat her up from the inside out, including this. How had he worded it, appealing to his baser instincts? She can understand that. There’s something about L that gets to her on a basic level, that makes her want to bare herself to him in more ways than one.

His hand creeps under her shirt as he kisses her, cupping her breast, the warm palm of his hand rubbing her hard nub, his touch more explorative than with any true intent. His erection is a hard presence against her thigh, and Light wants him so much that for long seconds she can’t breathe properly.

“You’re _so_ high,” L chuckles.

With single-minded focus she sits up and pushes him back into the chair, planting a knee firmly in the cushion on either side of his hips. “What are you doing?” she hears above her, but she’s too busy getting her skirt out of the way and then tugging at his sweatpants until he raises his hips. 

At last Light settles the length of his cock between her lips and the only thing between them is her thong, which at this point is nothing more than a wet string of fabric. She gyrates her hips experimentally, leaning back on her hands, L’s still underneath her shirt, the other travelling from her knee to her inner thigh, kneading the flesh there.

L makes a low noise in the back of his throat. “You want my cock, little Light?”

“Yes,” she whispers breathlessly.

“We’ll need lube for that,” he says, hands coming free from where they were playing with her flesh and pulling on her arms, pulling her close to his chest.

“No,” she protests against his chin.

“Yes,” he says, and she can feel the amused smile against her cheek.

“Just put it in,” she argues.

“You won’t like that, darling.”

“You don’t know that.”

He laughs. “I _do_ know that.”

“I just like the idea of—” She cuts herself off, having said too much already. 

Light hadn’t set out to tell him any of her fantasies, least of all this one, because she doesn’t want him to think of her as a masochist. She’s not, she likes the idea of it, but knows better than to expect reality to follow suit. But L bounces a leg to prompt her to continue, and it’s hard to ignore an L who wants answers. 

Especially while high.

“Fine, fine,” she says. Time slows down again as she looks up from where she’d been staring at something or other, the thought is already gone. “It’s just a stupid fantasy,” she emphasises, “I know it won’t be like that, okay?”

“Okay,” he agrees mildly. He strokes her hair and she leans into his hand, accepting his kiss with a quiet sigh. “So, you like the idea of…?” he prompts.

“Oh, right.” Light blinks. 

Could she get away with telling him she doesn’t remember where she was going with that? Probably not, L knows her better than she knows him, has her all figured out, whereas Light is still swimming in the deep here. What if he absolutely hates her fantasy, what if it’s a major turn-off for him? She kind of put herself in a corner here, unable to back out. 

“I like the idea of you forcing me to take it.”

“You have a ra—” 

“No!” she interrupts immediately, loudly. “ _No_. I don’t want _that_.”

“Then what is it?” L asks. “Explain this fantasy to me.”

“Isn’t it too early into whatever we are doing to be talking about fantasies?” she hedges with uncertainty.

“It’s never too early to tell a sexual partner what you want,” L says.

Light scrunches up her nose. “But it’s a _fantasy,_ I don’t think it’ll actually be hot to do, just the thought of it. In fact, I think it will be rather bad if we were to do that in reality.”

“And what is _that_?” L smirks. “You’re being so flighty about this, now I _have_ to know.”

“How about a trade? You tell me one of your fantasies that wouldn’t work in reality, and I tell you mine, no judging either,” Light says. “In fact, we won’t talk about it at all. I’ll go first.”

“A trade, then.”

“Okay.” Light licks her lips again, nervous now. “Like I said, you, er… pull my panties to the side, or I guess my thong, and—” She takes a deep breath, tries to stop herself from babbling stupidly. Why must his mere presence affect her so? Her next words fall out in a rush, as if she’s afraid she’ll stop if she pauses. “And without first opening me up, you put your tip in. It burns, because even your head is big, isn’t it? But you slowly force it in anyway, and I’m crying for you to take it out and it hurts so much, but you just tell me that it’ll be okay and that I can take it.” She falls silent, waiting for his verdict.

L swallows thickly. “Oh, that’s—okay.” He clears his throat. “You realise that your little fantasy comes very close to a rape fantasy, don’t you?” he asks, though thankfully his voice is devoid of judgment.

Light’s body is burning with desire and shame. “Yeah,” she admits quietly. “I know.”

L kisses her softly, and she gets the sense that he’s telling her that’s alright. Then he clears his throat once more, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Well, mine is quite simple, and rather cliché,” he says. “You sit under my desk while in my class with my cock down your throat.”

Light shifts in his lap, his large cock rock hard between her pussy-lips. “I wish I…” she trails off. They _had_ promised not to say anything after telling each other their fantasies, even though L already broke his promise.

But L seems to know what she means. “Yes, exactly. Oral, let alone deepthroating, is something most women are unable to give me. Men, on the other hand…”

“You’ve had sex with men?” Light asks curiously.

“Oral, yes. I don’t discriminate,” L smirks.

It makes a lot of sense. Their mouths are generally larger, probably able to take more of him than she ever could, even with practice. How she wishes she could, though. She’s thought about giving him head before she fully understood how big he is, and she knows she won’t be able to take much more than his tip in her mouth.

Light feels bad that she won’t be able to give him that, though she’s certainly going to try when she gets the chance. Just not tonight, tonight she wants him in her. She’s trembling with want, her hands clasped around his biceps, and she starts rolling her hips slowly, his hands cupping her arse and pressing her closer. He’s steadily getting more out of breath, panting in her neck.

“Have you had an orgasm at all since Wednesday?”

He bites her. “Nope,” he mutters. “But I’m _very_ close. You’re so fucking wet.”

L has such a mouth on him, Light bets he’s really good at dirty talk, because this isn’t even something he seems to be trying. “Fuck me, please,” she says.

“I will, I promise, I will,” L groans.

Light’s not the only one shaking, his hands urging her on, speeding her up the way he wants. 

“Stop, _stop_ , I’m too close.” 

With efforts she stills, though a part of her really wants to keep going and make him come. He’s gasping against her neck, puffs of hot air against her skin, his legs quivering underneath her. “I’m glad you didn’t come yet, I want you to put it all in me,” she confesses, a little dazed herself, and she doesn’t realise what she’s saying until it’s already out in the air.

“I’m going to, sweetheart, don’t you worry,” L whispers breathlessly.

Light twitches; that particular endearment hits her hard.


	5. Part Five

It takes both of them significant time to recover enough to stand. In the end, L shifts out from underneath her, then pulls her up by her limp arms, laughing when she groans and falls to the ground. She’s exaggerating, feeling playful, though she’s also slowly sobering up, which is good. Maybe another time she won’t mind being so high she’ll be floating, but that moment is not tonight.

She follows him inside and for a second there she thinks L is going to take her right there on the sofa when he pauses there. They share a look, both thinking it, but he shakes his head, moving into the hallway and up the stairs. Light follows at a more sedate pace, closes the bedroom door behind her for good measure, then walks over to the window to close the curtains, leaving them in the dark. Stalling, wrecked with nerves.

L, seated among the pillows, turns on the bedside lamp.

“C’mere,” he says, holding out a hand.

Light approaches him slowly, kneeling on the edge of the bed and crawling over to him. She’s not sure if she’s trying to be sexy or not, if she’s even succeeding, but from his expression she reads approval, so at least she must be doing something right. She straddles him, a familiar position now with how much she’s sat on him since they started, which admittedly isn’t that long ago. Still, his cock is a familiar feeling between her legs now, and she wishes he feels as familiar in her as well.

L pushes her over until she’s on her back in the middle of the bed, spreading her legs for him. Just a few weeks ago she never would have imagined she’d be in this position, yet here she is, wiggling out of her clothes, L taking the garments from her and carelessly dropping them into a pile next to the bed.

He opens the drawer of the bedside table and takes a sealed box out of it. Light’s body heats up when she spots what it is; a dildo, its colouring similar to L’s complexion and thicker than three of his fingers but slimmer than his cock. 

L _actually_ went ahead and got her a brand new sex toy.

There’s some lube sitting on the bedside table. He grabs it, uncaps the bottle of lube and puts some on his fingers, then smears it onto the dildo. Light eyes the sizeable toy with some trepidation as L kneels between her legs, but isn’t this close to what she was talking about earlier, with her fantasy? 

It may not be L himself, but the toy is large enough that it would hurt a little, and part of her hopes that he’ll work it in without using his fingers first, just to try it. He put lube on it, it shouldn’t be too much of a problem.

He gives her a lingering look, as if he’s considering his next move, and then he lines up the tip of the dildo with her opening. “Are you sure?” he asks.

She nods firmly. “ _Yes_ ,” she says vehemently.

He smirks. “Yes, what?”

“Yes, _sir_ ,” she says, and the words turn into a surprised moan as he chooses that moment to push the toy past her unstretched entrance. She was right, the stretch hurts, though not as much as she was expecting. Already she’s breathing heavily, her pussy so sensitive it’s almost overwhelming. She’s had fingers in the past few months, but not cock in a while, and the quality of the toy is high enough that it feels realistic if a little cold.

“Little Light is so responsive,” L remarks, sounding awed.

“That sounded like you just called—” She bursts into surprised laughter at the disturbed face he pulls. She hums, then sighs when he starts a slow rhythm, clearly not with the intent to make her come, just to make her feel good. “Hmm, this is nice,” she breathes. She can’t bring it in herself to feel self-conscious about the way she rolls her hips, meeting his hand, it just feels so _nice_ , the pace unhurried and relaxed.

“You like it slow and deep?”

“Mhm, yes,” she slurs, sinking further into the fluffy pillows. She arches her back when he changes the angle. “ _Oh_ , that’s—” Her eyes flutter closed, unable to keep them open in the face of the immense pleasure he causes her, her pussy getting even wetter.

“Yeah?” L whispers. He drags his fingers through the slick. “You really like that, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” she moans, “right there, sir.”

“I was going to wait and have you come on my cock, but you’re tempting me greatly. Sit up against the headboard.”

Light crawls up, fluffing up two pillows and using it to support her back.

“Hold onto your knees, sweetheart,” L instructs distractedly. “That’s it, good girl.” He scoops up a combination of her slick and lube and smears it liberally over her clit. “Going to make you come now, alright?” Without waiting for confirmation that she heard he picks up speed and intensity, and all Light can do is moan.

She brings her knees up with a loud gasp and holds them up, lifting her feet off the mattress and exposing herself further to him but beyond caring at this point. His fingers glide over her clit easily with her own slick easing the way and she thinks she can come from this, so incredibly aroused that the attention to her clit doesn’t hurt.

Light knows she’s repeating words, repeating _something_ , she doesn’t know what but she’s desperately holding onto the back of her knees. Two more hard thrusts and her back arches and her body locks up and the wet spot beneath her increases in size as she comes with a shout. 

“What the fuck,” she squeaks when her brain comes back online. She’s never come this fast in her _life_ , even with the help of a vibrator, and those can make her come pretty damn quick. She notices the toy is still buried deep in her and she can’t say that she minds, she likes the feeling of being filled.

L is a sight to behold. He’s grinning smugly while he palms his huge cock, squeezing the thick head and carelessly leaking precome onto her belly. The last part makes her feel better about her own wet orgasms, though it’s not the same at all.

“Fuck me, please,” she begs.

“I intend to—oh, shite,” L says, and he groans loudly. “I forgot to get condoms.” 

“What?” Light struggles to sit up properly. “No, you can still fuck me, sir, I’m on birth-control.” There are butterflies fluttering around in her stomach at the idea of being taken without protection, the idea of getting pumped full of his come.

“Birth-control isn’t infallible.”

“Please, sir.” Light is stubborn too, two can play that game, and she has a few tricks up her sleeve as well; she turns around on her hands and knees and presents herself to L much like an animal in heat would, arse up in the air, slick sliding down her inner thighs, pussy lips stretched around the dildo still.

His breathing hitches, clearly affected by the sight. “You want to be bred like a common animal, is that it?” he asks sharply, punctuating each of the last three words by a vicious stab of the toy. 

Unseen by him Light’s eyelids flutter, but he notices her reaction in a different way; by the sudden resistance he encounters when he thrusts the toy into her again.

“Oh, you _do_ , you filthy little girl.” He leans over her, his sculpted chest pressing against her back and his groin flush against her arse, the dildo laying next to them, already forgotten. The tip of his cock pushes against her opening, begging entry. “Fuck it, I can’t wait anymore, I’m sorry,” he groans quietly into her ear. “We’ll just get you plan B tomorrow.”

He pushes the spongy head past the rim of her entrance. The lube helps things along, and while his girth burns her so much her eyes tear up with it, he slides in easily enough. Then L is in her, hot and too thick, and he pushes in as far as he can go. Light feels so full she could cry, _is_ crying with the sting of it.

“You’re still much too tight,” L mutters, holding onto her hips. “This is going to end embarrassingly fast.”

Light bites her knuckles and hides her face in the pillow, breathing shallowly through the initial pain. He doesn’t give her any time to adjust, starts fucking her hard and deep after entering her, as if he can’t help himself, one hand on the small of her back and the other on her shoulder, keeping her secure where he wants her.

It doesn’t take very long for the pain to ebb away and for it to start feeling incredible, exactly the way Light’d imagined it. There’s something urgent in the way L fucks her, something wild in the way he holds her in place and pounds her pussy without much regard for her, and she finds that she likes the way he’s using her to chase his own orgasm. 

She spreads her legs wider, so aroused and wet that her pussy is dripping onto the mattress in a way she’d be ashamed of if she was more aware of herself. But she’s not in any state of mind to think further than the point where they’re connected and the way L bites lightly at her shoulder, the way he holds her up and moves her on his cock like she’s nothing more than a human-sized masturbator.

Before long, his rhythm begins to falter and he slams her down onto his cock so hard that Light cries out with discomfort, the headboard of the bed bumping harshly into the wall with L’s urgent movements.

While a part of Light reminds her that she should tell L to pull out, a much larger part of her wants him to paint her insides white, and so she pushes back against him when she feels his erection swell further. “God— _fuck_ ,” L wheezes, high-pitched and desperate, and then his cock starts pulsating, emptying himself inside of her, and he shudders violently with a pained gasp, his orgasm punched out of him. 

He grinds his cock in through the aftershocks, letting go of her hips, his hands shaking when his arms come up around her middle. He kisses the nape of her neck and her shoulderblades and when she half turns in his tight embrace, her cheek.

“Bloody hell.” L clears his throat. “Give me a few minutes and we’ll take care of you,” he croaks. He maneuvers them until they’re spooning on their sides, and he makes sure to keep his stiff cock inside her used pussy. “Even with the toy your little cunt’s still too tight.”

“Not anymore,” Light says, snuggling further into his hold.

“Hmm, I’d say it’s still a rather tight fit,” he says with a lazy roll of his hips that makes her moan wantonly. “Makes it easy to stay hard,” he adds, somehow amused by that. His fingers are splayed on her belly, and he plays with it, pushing his fingers into her skin and the thin layer of fat. “I can’t believe I fucked you raw,” he mutters. He flattens his palm lower on her belly and his cock twitches inside her at whatever he’s thinking about. 

“What are you thinking about?” she asks curiously.

“What you would look like pregnant,” he murmurs. “I find myself uninterested in having children, but breeding you has a certain appeal to it, though less now that my mind isn’t being clouded by sexual frustration.”

“The act of it or me actually preg—” 

“Insemination itself,” he interrupts quietly.

“You definitely know how to make it sound sexy,” Light says, heart speeding up, not just because L’s riding her arse ever so slowly in a way that tells her he’s unaware he’s doing it at all. “But I agree.” She licks her lips. “Will you breed me again, sir?”

“Christ,” L groans. “I did say I’d take care of you, didn’t I?”

“You don’t have to,” she says, a little shy. Falling asleep with a hard cock still in her pussy has always been a fantasy she’s never dared speak out loud. It feels worse, somehow, than the one she told L about because this one is something that they could potentially try; L is certainly hard enough for it and Light is sleepy enough for it.

What if— _what if_ she does tell him? Would that really be so bad? If only she had more of a feeling as to what is alright to be having as an urge or a need or a want. She already knows, logically, that the fantasy she spoke of isn’t as uncommon as she feels it is, the underlying wish to be dominated deceptively common. 

But wanting to fall asleep on his cock is such an odd thing it makes no sense. Where is it coming from, why does she want that? Does this, too, have to do with being dominated, giving up control? He could fuck her while she is asleep and if he is careful enough, she’ll never know. Is _that_ what she wants?

Light has never paid much attention to these thoughts before, because to be fair, she’s never really had opportunity for them. It’s not like she wants to fall asleep on just anyone’s cock, not even her friendly arrangements, but she feels safe with L, she trusts him to take care of her. Maybe that doesn’t need to be as much of a problem as she’s thinking it is.

So what if she tells him?

And then it’s his turn to ask, “What are you thinking?”

“Just another stupid fantasy,” Light says sleepily, the haze left by the marijuana not entirely gone yet either.

“Are you going to tell me what it is?” L asks next, which she should’ve expected but his interest still takes her by surprise. He’s riding her arse lazily, more like he’s trying to drive his cock deeper in than anything else, squeezing her tit in time with his grinding. “Well?”

He takes her breath away when he goes particularly deep and stays there, and she grabs his wrist and holds on as she holds her breath through the painful pressure. “Ryuzaki,” she moans, “please, sir, it hurts. _Please_.”

L noses at her throat. “You beg so prettily, I can’t help myself.”

Light pushes at him until he rolls over onto his back, cock slipping out of her. Before much of his come and some of the lube and her own slick can drip out, she straddles him, holding his cock and slides back down onto it. She wiggles around until she has her feet firmly planted on the bed, crouching above him because sitting down flush on top of him isn’t possible for her with his length.

She leans in for a kiss, soft and sweet, and he smiles at her. He bites his lip when she leans back, resting her hands on his legs behind her and giving him a good view of her body illuminated by the bedside lamp, completely exposed. 

L trails his hand over her chest, circles her bellybutton with his thumb then pushes his fingers at the place where they’re joined, tries to slide a finger next to his cock but that doesn’t work, so instead he rubs where her lips are pulled slightly outward holding his too thick cock in a tight grip.

Light wonders what he’s thinking. He told her that he likes that she’s not all sharp lines, called her soft, with enough of an admiring quality in his voice that it gave her goosebumps and made her nipples harden under the intensity of his gaze.

“If I believed in a god…” he trails off and doesn’t finish his thought.

“Then what?” she prompts.

“No, nothing,” L says with another smile, a hint of self-deprecation to it, and his deep kisses distract her, consume her until all she knows is him. “Ride me,” he whispers against her well-kissed lips.

“So lazy,” she breathes teasingly, slowly gyrating her hips. She doesn’t think she has the energy to really work him into a frenzy, but she’ll try.

“Hmm, yes, good girl.” His eyes fall closed with a content sigh, hands cupping her breasts, and he shakes his shoulders as he gets comfortable in his corner. He watches her through half-lidded eyes, grey irises almost overtaken by his pupils, does the lip biting that she adores seeing but which he isn’t ever aware of doing. “That’s it,” he murmurs appreciatively.

Gradually Light increases her speed and she watches his expression change from relaxed to something wild, building him up to his peak, ignoring the burn of her muscles, until he’s groaning with abandon and desperately kneading her tits, a strong tremor in his hands.

His phone starts ringing, and she stops. 

He arches his back with a moan, legs shaking, cock twitching and just a few thrusts away from orgasm. “Ah, _fuck_!” he hisses through gritted teeth, and this is him, she thinks. This is L without his games, the one who takes what he wants, and he is beautiful in his frustration, laid bare underneath her and deceptively vulnerable. 

“Sorry,” she says with a small grin, enjoying the sight immensely.

“Fucking hell,” he breathes, slapping her thigh. “Why’d you stop?”

“The phone?” she responds calmly. It’s stopped ringing.

L sighs. “Can you hand me my jeans?”

Light raises herself up and off of him and leans over the side of the bed to rummage around in the pile of clothing there until she finds his phone. With a groan she sits upright again and hands it to him. Just then, it starts ringing again.

L picks up. “What?” he grunts. He looks at Light and runs his free hand over her chest. “Go on then,” he mutters. “No, not _you_.”

Light lifts an elegant eyebrow but she sinks down on him again anyway.

He rips the phone away from his mouth, laying it flat on his shoulder while he covers his lips with his other hand with a strained but muffled, “ _Shit!_ ” He gets his feet under him, moving her with him, which makes him go even deeper, and his head falls back against the pillows, eyes closed while he bites his fist. At last he lowers his shaking hand and brings the phone back up to his ear. “Yes, I’m still here.”

She can’t take all of him, he’s too long for that or her pussy just not deep enough. Briefly she wonders if there’s women who can take him, but that’s not a train of thought she likes to follow, so she shakes it off. He’s hers now, the past doesn’t matter.

“Go on then,” L repeats softly. Then, louder into his cellular, “No, nothing, you were saying?”

She rolls her hips and watches his eyelids flutter. She grinds down on his cock, slow and deep, his hand coming up to knead one of her tits to the same rhythm, something he really seems to like doing, she notices. His eyelids start to flutter more and more as she continues, and soon he’s biting his lip. He’s panting quietly, carefully holding the phone’s microphone away from his mouth. 

“Listen, Aiber, I’m going to have to ring you back later, _goodbye_ ,” L says abruptly in a very low voice, pressing a few buttons and throwing the phone to the side. “Jesus, girl, what are you doing to me.”

“Breed me,” Light tells him firmly.

She wants him to use her the way he did earlier that night, moving her around like she was some doll that weighed nothing, using her just the way he wants to, chasing his own pleasure rather than taking her into consideration. She wants that again, except this time she hopes he’ll want to fuck her face to face, because she wants to watch him while he uses her, wants to see just how lost he gets.

L pushes up to thrust in when she comes down, meeting her and making her breath catch in her throat every time he bumps so harshly into her cervix, but the expression on his face makes all the pain _worth_ it. 

“Gorgeous,” he murmurs.

His hands are on her thighs, holding them tightly and guiding her the way he wants her to move, meeting each of her downward movements by thrusting up so roughly she sees stars. L speeds her up until his hips start to stutter, and he lets go of her when they get too out of sync, squeezing her tits so hard it hurts, both her nipples caught between his fingers in his vice-like grip. 

Light can safely say she’s never felt this good about herself before, seeing him absolutely lose it. And then, testing the waters, she gives a breathy moan and says, “You’re going to knock me up if you don’t pull out, sir.”

“Sweetheart, you can’t just say that when I’m—oh, _fuck!_ ” He ends on an almost desperate shout and soon after she feels his cock start to pulsate inside her abused cunt, his hot come filling her canal as he twitches forcefully, almost toppling her over.

She wonders if they’re ever going to have normal orgasms, rather than these violent, aggressive bursts of pleasure. If the intensity between them stays the same, she thinks this will be a common occurrence, and it excites her that she was able to make him come like this, wonders if he feels that same awe when it comes to her.

L holds out an arm, gesturing for her to lay down with him, so she lays herself on top of him, careful to keep his erection inside her. As she curls up against him, his other arm comes up around her, holding her tightly. She closes her eyes with a little sigh; she’s never felt this full or content in her life, but she can get used to this.

“It’s always the quiet ones, isn’t it?” L asks hoarsely.

It’s a rhetorical question, of course it is, but Light kisses him deeply in answer anyway.

* * *

She spends her days in a blissful daze, wanderlust in her veins as they speak of a life together that neither is able to commit to. She spends her time curled up in his arms, or at least whenever they can get away with it and sometimes even when they can’t; they walk too close, their words are too familiar, her smile is too fond and his eyes are too affectionate.

He smells of citrus and he tastes of summer dreams and she hopes the season never ends.

  
  


~fin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to stop it somewhere, because they were just going to keep going. Now that I've finally finished I'll probably be looking through it again hunting down mistakes, whoops. I just wanted to have it posted as fast as possible for a change.
> 
> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it, and that you have a nice day! :)
> 
> 23 February 2021: hahahaaa jkjk there hasn't been any 'hunting down mistakes' WHOOPS... I'm too damn predictable.


End file.
